


what once was [formerly known as Golden]

by SyverneSien



Category: The Misfits (Podcast), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Dream Smp, Gen, Historical Fantasy, I'm Sorry, Inspired by Game of Thrones, Inspired by The Lord of the Rings, Minor Original Character(s), Non-Graphic Violence, Original Universe, Realm of Mianite, antvenom more like anti-hero venom, jordan needs a vacation, originally a smplive fic but it Evolved, read the last 2 chapters to know why i abandoned this, ted nivison is a horse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-24 22:02:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 44
Words: 128,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22005166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SyverneSien/pseuds/SyverneSien
Summary: Wilbur Soot, a boy from a small town with magic capabilities, is recruited by the Crown, along with Sir Carson King and a demon named Schlatt, to stop the rebel leader Technoblade--who is claiming to be the illegitimate son of the last king, King Nathan--from overthrowing the king of the kingdom of Cypress, Jordan Sparklez. Along the way, he is introduced to King Jordan's right-hand man, the dastardly Vice Taylor Antvenom, who is suspected of conspiring to assassinate the king, as well as a knight, Phil Watson, and his squire, Tommy Innit, who quickly become friends with Wilbur, even though they are secretly rebel sympathizers.Meanwhile, due to his 'useless' slime magic, Charlie is disowned from his family of evil sorcerers and forced to go on the run. Along the way, he meets Noah Greypoint, a mercenary, and the Misfits, a band of rogues, and though starts off at odds with the Misfits, is forced to work with them when a masked villain named Dream kidnaps Charlie's closest ally and cousin.And under the sea, Prince Cooper of the Ocean Kingdoms flees his overprotective grandfather onto the mainland, where he gains a new family and discovers the truth about his grandfather's terrible history...
Relationships: Cam | GoodGuyFitz & SwaggerSouls, Charlie Dalgleish & Noah | Hugbox, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Cooper Schulz & Travis | Traves, Jordan Maron & Taylor Harris, Jschlatt & Carson King, Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot, No Romantic Relationship(s), Toby | TobyontheTele & Cooper Schulz, TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 625
Kudos: 616





	1. In Which Wilbur Meets a Legendary Hero and a Rather Large Goat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Please read whole foreword._  
>   
>  **Hey!** Thanks for clicking onto my fic. This is a MCYT no-shipping, no-death/graphic violence fantasy AU, as you probably already know from the tags and the summary. But it's not your _usual_ fic. Golden is an incredibly detailed, in-depth story set in a **completely original universe** with a unique and complex plotline. If you **do** decide to continue reading this fic, I highly recommend that you actually **take notes** on the events and information so that you find it easier to keep track of everything and theorize. There are many mysteries in this fic that I encourage you to think about! Theories are probably my favourite thing to see in the comments :)  
>   
> This is **not** a fic for everyone, as you're probably already guessing. Though it breaks no boundaries, it is quite fast-paced and complicated. I have **two alternatives** for you if you're beginning to doubt whether or not you want to continue into this fic (aside from just ploughing ahead, of course).  
> The **first** is [The Ballad of Wilbur Soot,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27405076/chapters/66980965) which is this exact same fic, but only Wilbur's point of view. This is still complex, but is an easier introduction into the universe if you're interested in learning about it. It's also significantly shorter and therefore a bit less daunting. The **second** is [Ashes to Ashes,](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1989964) a MCYT post-apocalyptic AU in which SMPs are post-apocalyptic civilizations. It has a lot less worldbuilding and lore, and is written in more of a connected one-shot style, and therefore if you're looking to get into my works but don't want to toss yourself into the deep end, you can start there instead and see if my writing style is your cup of tea.  
>   
> If you're going to plough ahead and start the rollercoaster of emotions that is Golden, I must say this: I started writing this fic in **December of 2019.** These early chapters are **old.** There are weird capitalization errors. There are consistency errors. There are plot points that end up serving no purpose in the long run. I urge you not to be dissuaded by these earlier chapters. I have improved as a writer and must say that I believe this is my greatest work of all time, and will continue to be as it goes forward.  
>   
> On the progression of this fic: this fic updates relatively consistently, but I do not have a schedule for it, so I recommend **subscribing** for email notifications so that you don't get behind! I estimate that this fic will end at around 100 chapters/300k words, but that is just a guess and it could easily go over that.  
>   
> So... grab your favourite snack, make sure you're in a comfy spot, and get ready for the ride of your life. My name is **Sy** \- you can contact me through the comments, on Twitter @ syverne, or on Discord @ Sy'verne Si'en#8162 - and welcome to **Golden.**

The night was cold and wet, a tempest thundering outside the rickety wooden walls of the inn. Wilbur Soot was much too nervous to nod off tonight, manning the front desk in case there were any arrivals during the night. There were never any overnight arrivals in Eagle’s Burrow, however, and Wilbur knew that the only reason his parents had assigned him the job was because everybody thought that he was useless at pretty much everything else. And Wilbur supposed they were right - every job he’d ever had the opportunity to do had been taken by one of his many, many siblings, and Wilbur, smack-dab in the middle of their family, had been stuck with the longest and most boring of them all. Surely if he was good at something he wouldn’t be up all night every night waiting for customers that didn’t come.

Wilbur sighed and ran his fingers through his cropped brown hair, his eyes flitting to the lute stashed by the fireplace. It had belonged to his eldest brother David before he’d gone off to become a squire, and the Soot siblings had quarrelled over who got custody of it. George had finally won the debate a week prior, as the second eldest in the family. But Wilbur knew George couldn’t play it, and David had only managed a few simple tunes as well. Wilbur wished he could take it from his older brother but he knew he’d get it back - he just had to settle for playing it at night when nobody was around to hear.

Before long, Wilbur was playing the old folk tune _The Maid and the Mockingbird,_ singing along softly with the plucked notes. He still flinched every time there was a crack of thunder outside, but it was more out of reflex than in fear. However, when there was a booming knock on the front door, Wilbur nearly leapt out of his skin, striking a wrong note and letting the instrument tumble to the floor.

Biting his lip, Wilbur made sure the lute was okay before hurrying to the door. Tentatively, he reached out and grasped the cold latch, heaving it open with a grunt. He had no idea how anybody else in his family managed to use those doors all day without hurting themselves.

There were two figures at the door - one much the same height as Wilbur, the other towering a full head above them both. They were both cloaked with the hoods pulled up, obscuring their features. Wilbur shivered as the cold night air bit the bare skin on his forearms, and he crossed them in an attempt to conserve heat.

“Good night, sirs,” Wilbur tried to keep his teeth from chattering. “Are you looking for a place to stay the night?” he noticed two horses tied to the post behind the cloaked gentlemen, one midnight black with chestnut eyes and the other tawny with eyes of the same tone. They both looked hardy and powerful, but there was a certain meanness about the black one that told Wilbur that it wasn’t a kind of horse he was familiar with.

“How much is a room?” the shorter gentleman removed his hood, as the overhang blocked most of the rain, revealing a pale complexion and dirty blond hair that neatly framed his face. In the dim lamplight, it was hard to glean much about the man, and the cloak covered most of his apparel except for his greaves and sollerets, made of tarnished silver.

“Ten silver a night,” Wilbur answered honestly. “You’ll be wanting two, I presume?” he looked to the taller figure, who simply snorted in amusement. He still couldn’t quite see his features and it made him uneasy. They got folks of all races, from vampire to werewolf, Windwing to Firehearted, but something made him think that this man, if he was any sort of man, was different from the rest.

“No, just one,” Wilbur waited to see if he would elaborate, but no explanation was offered. “Sorry for turning up so late, I don’t suppose there’s anybody else awake that could tend to our horses?”

“I’ll wake Charlie, I’m sure he won’t mind,” Wilbur smiled and pulled the door all the way open. “Come on in, sirs, make yourself at home, I’ll get my brother and then show you to your rooms- er, room.” he stepped aside, letting the two walk inside, before closing the door behind them. He shivered, wishing that the fireplace wasn’t so still, and hurried towards the stairs behind the desk that lead into the private areas of the inn.

Wilbur was careful when entering the room shared by four of his younger brothers so as not to wake the other three. Wilbur had fourteen siblings in all, seven older and seven younger, after one too many sets of twins made his family comically large. “Charlie…” Wilbur whispered, stepping over a makeshift practice sword that was laying on the ground. “Charlie, wake up,” he reached his brother’s bed and gently shook his shoulder. “Charlie Soot!” he hissed directly into Charlie’s ear, eliciting a sleepy grumble from the young… man? Wilbur, sadly, couldn’t remember how old Charlie was, and though he still looked very child-like Wilbur had a suspicion that he was actually but a few years younger than Wilbur and not a child at all.

Wilbur was stirred from his thoughts by Charlie’s drowsy, flailing hand whacking him on the side of the face. “W-Wilbur?” he seemed surprised and still very much half-asleep when he realized who he’d just hit.

“There are guests who need their horses tended to,” Wilbur told Charlie, and Charlie grumbled something Wilbur couldn’t make out. “Come on, the sooner you get up, the sooner you can go back to sleep.”

Charlie humphed and started to crawl out of bed, which prompted Wilbur to ask, “Can I just go and trust that you’ll take care of the horses?”

“Yeah, Wil, I’ll get on it,” Charlie bumped his head on the nearby dresser and nearly knocked himself back onto his cot, but gave him a thumbs-up anyway. He then yawned and waved for Wilbur to leave, and he promptly did just that.

Wilbur returned to the small main area of the inn to see that the other guest had finally removed his hood. He halted in the doorway, squinting to try to make sure his eyes were working properly. Instead of a human head on the man’s shoulders, it was a goat… or a sheep, but it seemed much too long and pointed to be a sheep. Jagged horns curled around the sides of his head into loose spirals, and his side-slit eyes were a vivid amber. He hadn’t recognized the first guest by himself, but alongside a goat creature such as this one…

“Gods above,” Wilbur cursed, catching the attention of both guests. “You’re- you’re Sir Carson and er-, Schlatt, aren’t you?” Once a legendary heroic duo, they had dropped out of the public eye in the last year, going back to being roadside saviours instead of bigshot questing folk. They’d only been around for half a decade, maybe a year or two more, so Wilbur could clearly remember when they were constantly the talk of the town back when Sir Carson had been made a knight by King Jordan himself. The rumours about his companion, Schlatt, had confused Wilbur for the last few years - but now he realized. The people didn’t _call_ Schlatt a goat as if it were some fancy title or degrading nickname, he really _was_ a goat. Maybe even some demon creature from the depths of Hell - that was the only place Wilbur could think of where a creature like that could originate, other than perhaps some faraway land he hadn’t yet heard of.

“I told you the kid would recognize me,” Schlatt said to Sir Carson with a scoff. “But no, you insisted that Eagle’s Burrow was so far removed that nobody would recognize _the only gods-damned goat-man in the entire kingdom.”_ Wilbur watched as Sir Carson visibly deflated in his seat, the cloak around his shoulders falling askew to reveal more pieces of silver armour. The knight looked as if he were going to say something, but he never did, leaving him looking rather like he was holding a bee in his mouth. “So what if we’re Schlatt and Carson?” Schlatt turned his gaze on Wilbur and the young man could’ve sworn flames were flickering in his irides. “We’re paying customers, huh? What was it, ten gold?”

“Y-yeah,” Wilbur stammered, making his way back over to the desk. His hand brushed by the knife strapped underneath the table as he went for the drawer, retrieving the leather-bound ledger and laying it out to the current page. “Would you please sign your names here, sirs?”

Schlatt signed first, his handwriting barely legible on the parchment. Sir Carson followed after, a quick flourish that was only a touch more readable than his partner’s. Wilbur watched cautiously as Schlatt fished a satchel that jangled with the sound of coins inside from his belt, the long black cloak falling back into place quickly. Wilbur was curious as to Schlatt’s attire, but his view was masked by the cloak, and he suspected that was its intent. He did, however, notice that Schlatt’s hands were three-fingered and reminiscent of both hooves and paws, with silky white fur covering the main portion and dull claws on the tips of his fingers.

Sir Carson cleared his throat to draw Wilbur’s attention, taking the pouch from Schlatt and sorting out ten moderately-sized gold coins onto the desk. “We’ll only be staying one night,” Sir Carson’s ocean-blue eyes flicked to Schlatt momentarily, and the goat-man did not object.

Wilbur took the coins, feeling firelight burning into the back of his skull when he looked down. A quick check in the ledger noted that they had paid, and then it was stowed away again into the drawer. “I’ll show you to your rooms- er, room,” Wilbur stammered, grabbing the lit candle from the desk and pacing towards the steep wooden staircase that led to the guest rooms - different from the one directly behind the desk. He could hear two sets of footsteps following him as he ascended, the candlelight casting an eerie glow and sending shadows dancing across the walls.

Wilbur reached the room now assigned to Sir Carson and Schlatt and pulled the small brass key from his pocket. He unlocked it for them and pushed the door open, wincing at the loud creak. Wilbur passed off the key to Sir Carson and stepped back, trying to disappear into the wall. Sir Carson gave him a dismissive nod, which Wilbur returned before dashing rather hurriedly back down the stairs.

* * *

Wilbur pulled on his jacket and escaped through the front door into the rain, his brother’s lute clutched in his hand so tightly that it turned his knuckles ghostly white. He let the raindrops splash against his face, breathing a heavy sigh of relief. He had never expected it to be stressful, meeting his heroes. Wilbur started to stumble towards the stables, wanting to keep the fresh air but get out of the direct line of the rain. He stopped underneath the overhang, shoulders heaving with each breath.

“Gods, kid looks like he’s been through the wringer,” a voice commented as Wilbur steadied himself against one of the beams, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. There was nobody else around, he was sure of it.

“Who’s there?” Wilbur called out, trying to keep his voice from shaking. He shivered, the cold wind biting against his neck and face.

“...Well, that was unexpected. You looking for me, champ?” the voice said again, and Wilbur whirled around to spot… a horse. Well, four horses. Two that belonged to Wilbur’s family and two that belonged to Sir Carson and Schlatt. The gorgeous white stallion that must belong to Sir Carson was staring directly at Wilbur, a thoughtful expression gracing its snout.

“Name’s Ted,” the stallion said, flicking his ears, “and correct me if I’m wrong, but you can hear me speaking, can’t you, kid?” The white horse’s nostrils flared as Wilbur took a step towards him.

“I… I wish everyone would stop calling me ‘kid’,” Wilbur grumbled, stopping in front of the gate keeping Ted in his pen. “I’m nearly as old as Sir Carson, I’m sure.”

“Eh, you might be right,” Ted flicked his snout up in a sort of horse-shrug. “Whatever,” Ted snorted. “I can’t believe you. You find out you can talk to horses and the first thing you do is complain about being called a kid.”

“I’ve had a weird night,” Wilbur sighed, leaning back against another wooden beam. “Does Sir Carson know you can talk?”

The horse brayed a laugh. “I’m not talking, kid, you’re understanding me - there’s a difference. I talk all the time, but neither Schlatt nor Carson have any clue what I’m saying. You’re the magic one in this relationship, er… what’s your name again?”

“Wilbur, Wilbur Soot,” Wilbur replied, drawing his hands up into his sleeves, “and I’m not magic, Ted. I can’t be. I’d never spoken to an animal in my entire life before you came along.”

“Honestly, kid, how much time do you spend outside?” Ted sighed, frowning.

“Between working nights and sleeping during the day… not much,” Wilbur scratched the back of his head. Had he really been able to talk to animals this whole time and just not realized it? “I guess… I guess with all my siblings talking my ears off constantly throughout my entire life I never noticed if there were any voices around that didn’t match a- a human’s.”

Ted let out a braying laugh. “In all my years, I’d never met a wizard that didn’t know they were a wizard before meeting you, kid. You’re a special case, that’s for sure,” the horse just about doubled over in laughter, letting out a loud whinny that caused one of the other horses - the deep black one that must belong to Schlatt - to look over with indignation.

  
“Stuff a carrot in it, Ted,” the black horse grumbled. “Some of us are trying to sleep while you and that kid yammer about magic.” He then called Ted a name that Wilbur didn’t dare repeat.

“Shut up, Stal, nobody cares about you,” Ted shot back. “Did you hear this kid, though? He can talk to animals and he didn’t even know!”

“Just tell him he’s part of some voodoo prophecy or other fly-food and get on with your life,” Stal snorted and turned away, disinterested.

“It’s not fly-food,” Ted grumbled. “It’s important. Kid, you’re exactly what our team needs.”

Wilbur, overwhelmed and flabbergasted, squinted at the white stallion. “Pardon me?”

“You can talk to animals, kid. Do you know what that means?” Ted stared at him with wide eyes, as if expecting some massive revelation to hit Wilbur.

“Uh… that I’m going to be sent off to the capital and be stuck learning magic in a stuffy tower for the rest of my young life?” Wilbur guessed, cocking an eyebrow.

“No!” Ted stuck his long snout out until it was barely an inch from Wilbur’s face. “It means you’ve got a potential for nature magic, Wil. And nature magic is all about healing. And we _desperately_ need a healer on our team. That’s why we stopped questing, you know.”

“Your team?” Wilbur’s hopes started to rise. He was pretty sure he knew what Ted was suggesting, and if he was right… it would be a dream come true.

“Carson, Schlatt, Stal, and me. Our team,” Ted drew back, smiling encouragingly at Wilbur. “All you have to do is convince Schlatt and Carson that you’re a- a healer of some kind… maybe a cleric, or a-” Ted’s eyes dropped to the lute clutched in one of Wilbur’s hands. “Do you play that?”

“Wh- the lute? Yeah, I do,” Wilbur answered, wondering where Ted was going with this.

“A bard, then. Convince Schlatt and Carson that you’re a bard, and you’ll be able to come with us. Unless you’d rather stay here, in this boring dump of a town,” Ted raised an eyebrow.

Wilbur thought about his fourteen siblings. Any of the ones who were still at home could take his place. He’d miss some of them, that’d be for sure, but to pursue his dream of becoming a hero? And alongside Carson and Schlatt, no less?

“Well?” Ted asked, waving a hoof in front of Wilbur’s vacant face.

“I’ll do it,” Wilbur decided. “Um… how do I do it?” He looked hopefully at the white stallion.

“Don’t worry,” Ted smiled reassuringly. “Stal and I will help you out. We horses have some magic of our own, don’t you know? And I’m sure the other creatures in those woods around here will be willing to help out a nice young kid like you.”

Wilbur nodded enthusiastically. He was nervous, but he was sure it would be alright.

“Don’t drag me into this!” Stal snorted from the next pen.

“He’ll come around, I promise,” Ted whispered to Wilbur with a wink. “Now, you go get some sleep, kid. I want you back here bright and early, so we can get you prepared before Schlatt and Carson start getting ready to leave,” Ted drew back, excitement shining in the horse’s eyes. “We’ll make a man out of you yet, Wilbur.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot woot! I am so excited about this story, it has to be one of the best concepts I've ever had (in my own opinion). Ever since I started watching SMPLive and SMPEarth, I've wanted to write something about this gang of merry fellows. I've already done a story set in the future, so why not set this story in the past? (I also may have been watching too much Drawga: Drawfee & Dragons, haha).  
> Please let me know what you guys think so far! This story will have a much more lighthearted feel than my other VB RPF story, so I'm interested to see how people react to it.


	2. Introducing Charlie, Slime Boy + Ted Gives Some Helpful Exposition

“Charlie!” Grizzly’s voice called as the young Blackthorn hurried through the door, scrolls and books balanced in his arms.

“I’m busy, Griz!” Charlie replied, setting down the stack inside his room and trying to escape back out through the door. He pushed up his thin spectacles and tried to give Grizzly a friendly nod as he went by, but his brother’s arm shot out and blocked his passage.

“Charlie. Condi’s called a family meeting for noon, and he insisted that you be there. I’m here to make sure that you get there, okay?” Grizzly was referencing the many times Charlie had skipped out on a Blackthorn family meeting for something he (but not his family) deemed more important. Charlie was the youngest of the bunch, so it was only fitting that his priorities were a bit different, and in the boredom that came with having no relatives around his age, he’d discovered many secret passageways in Blackthorn Manor that allowed him to avoid his family members and pretend that he’d forgotten.

“Psh. _Condi_ called a family meeting? Who does he think he is - our mother?” Charlie joked, but Grizzly didn’t seem amused, frowning at his younger brother. Charlie ignored him, however, turning back into his room and dashing over to his desk.

“In a hurry?” Grizzly asked, regarding Charlie with amusement. He always seemed to be on the balls of his feet, dashing somewhere or other with his hair ragged and his eyes aglow. It was an energy nobody else in the family seemed to have.

“Just because you’re Named already doesn’t mean you can judge me,” Charlie retorted, sticking out his tongue at the brown-and-green-clad wizard. His brothers were always dressed up in fancy robes and expensive silk garments. Meanwhile, Charlie preferred to wear what his parents regarded as ‘peasant clothes’, such as his current outfit - a dark green leather tunic and tight black breeches with knee-high leather boots and a black cowl, and leather gloves fastened to his belt among other things. His mother liked to say he looked more like a stick-eater (that was what she called rangers, for she didn’t like them very much) than a magician, which was what he was _supposed_ to be.

“In case you hadn’t picked up on it after _years_ of our parents trying to hammer it into you - that’s _exactly_ what being Named means. I wish you’d take it more seriously, Charlie,” Grizzly sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. 

“You guys are still going to be disappointed in me no matter how I act,” Charlie shrugged, hastily rearranging the scrolls strewn across his desk to try and find some open space. “I failed the Blackthorn test the day I was born with _slime_ magic,” he spat out the word as if it were poison.

“Charlie…” Grizzly started, but he didn’t continue. Silence hung in the air before Charlie slammed his hands down on his desk.

“I’ll be at the meeting, Griz. Just wait outside and leave me alone right now, okay?” he sighed, brown hair falling over his spectacles, but he couldn’t be bothered sweeping it away.

“I- fine. Sorry, Charlie,” Grizzly stepped out of the room and closed the door with a solid _thunk._

Charlie sat down violently into a nearby chair, noticing for the third time that day that one of the legs was wobbling, but he couldn’t be bothered fixing it. He rested his head in his hands and steadied his breathing, then gazed up at the ceiling. Every Blackthorn was magical, and every Blackthorn had a speciality that they were born with. Grizzly’s was bears, obviously, Condi’s was elementals, their mother’s was leopards, their father’s was volcanoes, and so on. As a family of famous villains, if one was born with a speciality that wasn’t acknowledged as being ‘dangerous’... like, for instance, _slimes,_ that person was going to have a hard time making the family proud. And Charlie was definitely feeling the difficulty, especially when his parents wouldn’t even Name him and let him _try_ to be a villain. Too worried that his failure would tarnish their reputation, he supposed.

There was a knock on the door. “Charlie? We have to go,” Grizzly called, and Charlie heaved himself to his feet.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” Charlie replied and he took one long look around his room as a feeling of foreboding started to hang over him.

* * *

Wilbur slipped out of the inn at the crack of dawn and ran towards the stables. He’d managed to get his sister Rhianna to cover the rest of the night because she owed him a favour, and though he’d had only a few hours of sleep he felt elated and energetic. He quickly found the snow-white stallion and stopped in front of his pen.

  
“Ted?” he ventured, not wanting to wake the horse up if he was still asleep. He gripped the wood with his open hand, the other clutching the lute he’d managed to sneak out with. He hoped that George didn’t go looking for it the one time that Wilbur needed it.

“G’morning,” Ted rumbled, blinking open tired brown eyes. “Great Pegasus, the sun’s barely up! Did you even sleep, kid?” the horse demanded in a joking sort of tone.

“Yeah… for a couple of hours, I think,” Wilbur replied with a shrug. “Is- is Stal awake?” he glanced at the black stallion.

“I am now,” Stal grumbled, glaring at both of them with deep red eyes. “Thanks for waking me up at dawn, losers. If you’re going to talk go do it in the forest or something, where _I_ can’t hear you.”

“Hey!” Ted protested. “I’m not a loser. The kid here might be, but that’s only if _we_ can’t show him the ropes.”

“Thanks, Ted,” Wilbur muttered sarcastically, folding his arms.

“I’m not helping you with your crazy idea, Ted!” Stal protested, flicking his tail and snorting.

“Yes, you are!” Ted shot back. “Even though you might act like you don’t care, I know you don’t like seeing Carson or Schlatt hurt, and I know you _definitely_ hate it when you have to carry one of them when they’re injured. If we can teach Wil how to heal, you won’t have to worry about either of those things anymore. Plus, I’ll be done twice as fast with your help.”

Stal muttered something incoherent, then looked up and grunted, “Fine. I’ll help. But I’m not doing more than I have to.”

“Great!” Ted stamped his two front hooves on the ground in what Wilbur could only equate to a sort of clap. “Wil, if you could just…” he gestured to the latches on the pens.

“Oh, yeah!” Wilbur darted forwards and undid the latch on Ted’s pen first, then Stal’s. “Where are we going?”

“The forest. Not far in, just enough so that we’re out of sight. Get on my back,” he jerked his head back in a gesture. “Have you ever ridden a horse before, kid?”

Wilbur waited until Ted was fully out of the pen, then took a bit of a run-up and clambered onto the large stallion’s back. He was a larger horse than he was used to, but he still managed it in one try, careful not to damage the instrument clutched in his hand. Once he was up, he replied, “Yeah, I have. That chestnut horse there belongs to my family - his name is Milo,” he gestured to one of the other horses in the stable. Milo still seemed to be sleeping.

“Haven’t had a chance to talk to him yet,” Ted noted as they walked by, Stal following behind. “He’s a sleepyhead, that one,” the white stallion snorted. He was obviously a little snooty about his position as a knight’s horse.

Wilbur latched onto Ted’s mane, twining his hands in the rough hair to keep himself from sliding off. Luckily, Charlie had forgotten to unsaddle the white horse, so Wilbur didn’t have to deal with the perils of riding bareback. He leaned down in the saddle, essentially hugging the horse’s back like a koala.

Ted picked up speed, cantering into the woods and careening into a large clearing off the beaten path. The grass was green and mostly undisturbed, with no sign of human touch. The white stallion halted suddenly, nearly lurching Wilbur off of his back.

“This seems perfect!” Ted exclaimed, oblivious to Wilbur trying desperately not to fall off of him. “What do you think, Stal?”

“It’s okay,” Stal grumbled, eyeing Wilbur’s struggles with amusement.

Wilbur grabbed at the saddle but he couldn’t quite get a good hold, slowly sliding off of Ted’s side. “Uh, Ted? Help?” he called, legs kicking out to try to find the stirrups.

“What is it, kid?” Ted craned his head back to try to look at him, but the movement just caused Wilbur to lose his grasp and go tumbling down onto the soft grass.

Wilbur landed on his back and was instantly winded, gasping to try to get a breath. It hadn’t been a long fall, but it had been an awkward one.

“You okay, Wilbur?” Ted’s beady brown eyes blinked down at him. “That was a hard fall, kid.”

“I know,” Wilbur grabbed Ted’s stirrup to pull himself up. “I felt it,” he groaned, scrambling to his feet.

“All good?” Ted nosed his shoulder, then bopped him in the head with his snout.

“Ah- Ted, you’re going to knock me over again!” Wilbur exclaimed, semi-joking. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” he rested a palm on Ted’s shoulder to steady himself.

“I should’ve been more careful,” Ted’s nostrils flared. “I- I used to be a warhorse, you know. Still am, I guess, but not in the ‘war’ sense. Do you remember the War of Rah’ōxah, Wilbur?”

Wilbur was momentarily confused by the sudden change of subject before he answered. “Um- yeah, kind of. I was born during that war, I think.”

“You must’ve been. You’re what, nineteen?” Ted snorted when Wilbur nodded. “That war started during King Nathan’s time, nearly twenty-five years ago now, so it would all even out. Lasted almost eight years. I was barely full-grown when they brought me into the army, first as a messenger horse, then changing jobs as I got older. When King Nathan died and the war ended, I had been a knight’s warhorse. Then a kid stole me and the rest is history.”

Wilbur had sat down on a stump, listening to Ted’s story with fascination. “How old was Sir Carson when you met him?” he asked, realizing finally just how old both the knight and his horse were.

“Twelve,” the edges of Ted’s lips curled up into a smile - he seemed to remember it fondly. “He was such a scrawny little kid, and I was- well, I was this size, with even more muscle than now, if you can believe that. Poor little orphan, trying to make a quick buck stealing a greathorse and selling it. I could tell he was destined for greatness the moment I met him…”

“Really?” Wilbur asked, leaning forward.

“To some extent, yeah. That’s why I helped him get away - you didn’t _really_ think a skinny little twig with no horse-riding ability nor experience could actually _steal_ a warhorse, did you?” Ted chuckled. “Plus, they didn’t really need all the warhorses after the war was over. Sure, a bunch were kept, but keeping all those horses fed and watered would be too much of a drain on resources. They were planning to sell me anyway, I know they were. That’s why when we ran into Vice Taylor on the road, he let us go. Of course, he was only on his _way_ to become the new King Jordan’s Vice, so he didn’t exactly have any authority other than being a knight, so that... might’ve also been why he let us go.”

“You’ve met Vice Taylor? Did you ever meet King Nathan? Or King Jordan? What about the Blackthorn family? Have you ever encountered any of them?” Wilbur was rapt, encaptured by the greathorse’s stories. He wanted to know everything, the truth behind all the mysterious figures he’d only heard snippets about.

“Woah, woah, slow down. There’ll be time for stories _after_ you learn some magic, okay?” Ted paused. “Yeah, I’ve met both King Nathan and King Jordan. If you do well and get on our team, I’ll tell you about both of them tonight.”

“Yessir, Ted!” Wilbur saluted the horse, which made him laugh.

“Get on your feet. We’ve got work to do,” Ted smiled and shot Wilbur a wink. Wilbur was just itching to get started, leaping to his feet and rolling up his sleeves with enthusiasm. “How much do you know about…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> King Nathan = Nathan Yaffe from Drawfee because I have an obsession  
> Between the last chapter and this one, I came up with, like, a whole extra scene of lore and I am SO excited about this story!! I swear the tag list just keeps getting longer, please help me...  
> Please let me know what you guys think! I haven't written a fantasy story since 2016 so it's a bit odd trying to get back into it, heh-


	3. F in Chat for Charlie + Wilbur Nearly Punches His Brother in the Face Because Teasing Sucks

Charlie drummed his fingers on the table, disinterested. Just like any other family meeting, he had no idea what the conversation was at any given time because it never involved him, just boring talk of other kingdoms and which heroes were currently out and about.

“We’ve received word from our spies in the Sky Kingdom that Queen Julia of the Windwings has been missing from her court quite frequently,” Condi was saying, standing at the head of the table. Charlie wasn’t sure when he’d taken over as the head of the family from their mother - probably at one of the meetings he’d (thankfully) avoided. “Princess Jaiden has been taking her place.”

“A child?” their father spoke up. “If we wished to launch an attack on the Sky Kingdom, this would be the perfect opportunity.”

“But we don’t,” Condi replied. “Sure, we may antagonize the Windwings, but if we caused any lasting damage, we’d be doing King Jordan a _favour,_ ” he ran a hand through his brown hair and looked around at the family. Charlie busied himself studying a large red bug on the wall behind his head. “Does anybody have anything else to say before we get to today’s central issue?”

One of Charlie’s cousins, Pyrocynical, leapt to his feet, clutching what looked to be his newest invention in his hands. “I, Pyro, have-” he declared, before Condi cut him off.

Charlie couldn’t remember what Pyro’s speciality was, though he suspected that it had something to do with fire. Pyro preferred to spend his time building things instead of learning magic, which had put him in the same boat with Charlie up until at which point his inventions started working. Pyro was just about the only Blackthorn that Charlie got along with.

“Not you, sit down,” Condi waved a hand dismissively, and Pyro slumped back down in his chair. “Anybody with something _important_ to say?” Even though Pyro was officially Named and allowed to do the same things as everyone else, most of the family wasn’t happy about it. “No? Good.”

Condi paused, looking directly at Charlie. He didn’t notice, still looking past his brother. “Charlie,” and suddenly all eyes were on him. His eyes snapped to Condi, surprised and confused. “I’ve discussed with the senior members of the family and we’ve come to a decision. You will get your Name…” Charlie’s eyes lit up. He couldn’t believe this. “...but you will be disowned from the Blackthorn family.” _No. They can’t. This must be a joke._

“I… I… Condi…” he balled his hands into fists. “Why?” he demanded, leaping to his feet with a sudden wave of fury. “I’m your _brother,_ you’re supposed to protect me! I look _up_ to you, you can’t throw me out like this! You gave Pyro more time, and now look at him! He’s gone from mud on your shoe to perfect golden boy, but you can’t give me the same chance?” Charlie slammed his fist down on the table and immediately regretted it, his knuckles burning with pain.

“I’m sorry, Charlie,” Condi sighed, “but Pyro is skilled in fire magic as well as a talented inventor. We were never going to evict him. You, on the other hand, you’re skilled in... what, summoning useless slime creatures to hop around for a bit? You’re not villain material, Charlie, and you’d be better off working on a farm somewhere.”

The wave of anger receded and Charlie slumped back down into his chair. He couldn’t believe this. He _was_ going to prove to his family that he could be a villain, even if they thought he couldn’t. He would never be a hero, not with the name of Blackthorn hanging over his head, and the only future he’d ever wanted was to work alongside his brothers. _You’re crushing my dreams, Condi. And you’re going to eat those words._

“Fine. Fine,” Charlie muttered. “At least I get a Name. Will there be a Naming ceremony?” he asked, looking up at his brother with piercing brown eyes.

Condi paused, his face cold. “No.”

* * *

Wilbur collapsed onto his knees, his scratched and bloody hands spread on the ground in front of him. It had taken all morning just to teach him how to heal, and another hour plus all of his energy to heal one scratch.

“This is never going to work,” Stal huffed haughtily, voicing Wilbur’s inner concerns. “They’ll see right through him.”

“I’m sure I can help convince them,” Ted replied. “Carson can usually figure out what I mean if I try hard enough. Look, he’s learning pretty fast! Most healers take a few days, maybe a week, to learn the basics. He’s a natural… we gotta get him to come with us,” the white stallion looked up at the sky, barely visible through the trees. “Speaking of which, Schlatt and Carson will be getting ready to leave soon. We have to get back before they notice we’re gone. Want a ride, Wil?”

Wilbur inhaled a gasping, shaky breath and sat up, his eyes watering from the effort. “That… that would be great, Ted,” his hands were quivering and streaked with pain as he tried to mount the huge horse.

“Give me your hands, kid,” Ted demanded when he noticed Wilbur’s troubles. When Wilbur presented them, he quickly licked them clean, recoiling slightly at the taste of blood. Wilbur pulled his hands back, unsure whether the pain or the uncomfortable wetness was worse. But it had worked, kind of, and Wilbur managed to get seated in the saddle.

The ride back was quick, and Wilbur hurriedly locked Stal and Ted into their pens again. The black horse seemed annoyed, though he was always annoyed, but Ted looked at him with hope.

“You’re doing great, kid. Don’t listen to Stal. Now, you go inside and get packed and ready, and come back out when you hear Carson and Schlatt come outside. You’ve only got one shot at this, so make it count.” Ted directed.

“What do I say?” Wilbur asked, wringing his hands nervously.

“Doesn’t matter. Just get the point across, and I’ll help with the rest. Now go!” Ted poked Wilbur in the shoulder with his snout, pushing him towards the inn.

Wilbur broke into a run, his shoes squelching in the mud. He nearly slipped a few times, but made it to the front door and heaved it open.

The inn was abuzz in the light of it almost being noon, Wilbur’s siblings covering nearly every surface. His parents were nowhere to be seen, but that wasn’t unusual, nor Rhianna, who was probably sleeping off the latter half of Wilbur’s shift. He quickly slipped over to the fireplace without being seen, replacing the lute in its place, before the loud voice of his older brother Matt called his name.

“Hey, Wilbur! Get over here!” Matt, George, and Dan were huddled around one of the larger tables, playing an unusual game using dice, cards, and some small sticks that Wilbur didn’t know the function of. Most of the rest of the family surrounded them, including Charlie, who looked a little tired but was cheering Dan on nonetheless.

Wilbur jogged over, the crowd parting to let him through. Somebody hit him on the arm, but he didn’t see who. “What are you guys playing?” he asked.

“The barmaid down the way taught it to me,” George explained. “It’s called Birds,” he gestured to the sticks, but Wilbur was still confused.

“Birds?” Wilbur repeated.

“The name doesn’t really relate to the game,” Matt put in, beaming at Wilbur.

“Crack,” Dan interjected, slapping down two cards on the table. It must have been a good play because Charlie hissed ‘yes!’ from behind Dan.

George frowned, looking down at his own cards. “Anyway, where’ve you been, Wilbur? You’ve been gone all morning,” he scratched his beard thoughtfully.

“Uh…” he wrung his hands together nervously, trying to come up with something. In a moment, he decided to speak a version of the truth. “I was in the forest. Just… lost track of time, I guess.”

“That’s our Wilbur,” Jack joked from beside Wilbur, and he gave a start. He hadn’t noticed his younger brother sneaking up to stand with him. “Head in the clouds!” Jack smacked him in the arm playfully, grinning.

“Hey!” Wilbur cried, trying to hit Jack back, but Jack slipped out of reach. “You’re a _cretin,_ Jack.”

“He’s going to kill you now,” Matt said in a flat voice, intently studying the cards clutched in his hands. “Run.”

“I’m pretty sure Wilbur would break his hand throwing a punch,” Jack retorted, and Wilbur felt his ears burn red. “That’s why he never got to be a kni-”

“Shut up!” Wilbur thrust himself through the crowd and grabbed the front of Jack’s tunic, slightly shaking his younger brother. “Just- shut up, Jack. I’m not in the mood for teasing. I have stuff to do.”

“‘Stuff’?” Jack made quotations with his fingers, rather unbothered by the situation. “What kind of ‘stuff’, big bro?”

“None of your business,” Wilbur replied, letting go of Jack and letting him fall to the floor. “I’ll see you guys later,” he sighed.

“Hey- wait, Wilbur!” Jack scrambled up from the floor and darted after him, but Wilbur had already escaped up the stairs and disappeared down the hallway.

Wilbur fled into his room and slammed the door behind him, breathing heavily. Jack hadn’t meant anything by it, he was sure of that much. He fell back against the door, muttering. “Stupid, stupid-” he continued by swearing under his breath, balling his hands into fists until his nails were digging into his palms.

He could have stood there for hours or mere seconds, but eventually, he stumbled away from the door and steadied himself against one of the bedposts. “Ready… gotta get ready…” he mumbled to himself, the vocalization helping his thoughts get back on track. He didn’t think he had anything to change into - his off-white tunic, brown britches, leather boots, and dark green coat would have to do. At least he somewhat resembled an earth mage - or a bard, as he was supposed to be. He put together a leather shoulder bag with his few personal belongings and a change of clothes just in case, then slung his coat and bag over his shoulder and sat down by the window to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *steals from Warrior Cats* *steals from Warrior Cats* *steals from Warrior Ca-*  
> Can we get an F in the comments for Charlie, Wilbur, and Jack? Lotta f going around in this chapter.  
> I wish Birds was a real game now :(


	4. Wholesome Family Vibes All Around

_Slimecicle._

It was a stupid name. Stupid, and based on a joke the brothers had had when they were younger. Back when Condi was kinder and Grizzly was less distant. Whenever they had felt down, Charlie had made them all slime popsicles. The little bouncing balls of green always made them feel happier.

And now Condi had turned it into a curse.

_Slimecicle._

The word reverberated around Charlie’s skull, Condi’s voice becoming more distorted. He couldn’t believe this. He couldn’t believe any of this. He wanted to wake up; to realize that this was all just a dream and that he had nothing to worry about… he wanted to know that his older brother, his mentor, the magician he looked up to, still loved him.

But Condi’s deep brown eyes were shards of obsidian set deep into his skull, revealing no true intentions nor any emotions hidden behind them. “This meeting is dismissed. Slimecicle, you must leave at dawn. I won’t force you to have only mere hours to find a place to spend the night,” and with that, the dark blue-clad wizard swept past Charlie and out of the room, leaving behind only the whisper of Charlie’s Name.

_You’re kicking me out anyway,_ Charlie thought bitterly. _What does the time matter?_ He slumped over the table, palms splayed as he studied the cracks in it, thinking. _I suppose the name’s not that bad. Weird, but not that bad if you don’t think about it too hard. I guess._ He slammed his fist down on the table, breathing heavily. _Slimecicle, the useless wizard. That’s me._

* * *

Pyrocynical found Slimecicle hiding in a broom closet, staring blankly at the wall. Slime didn’t acknowledge that he was there, unless a heavy sigh counted as acknowledgement.

“Bit of an odd place to sit on your last day here,” Pyro commented, running a hand through his platinum blond hair. “I’d think you’d want to see everybody before they’re trying to kill you.”

Slime sighed again and Pyro instantly felt bad. He didn’t deserve this… _nobody_ deserved this.

Pyro knelt on the ground and put a hand on Slime’s shoulder. “C’mon… at least take a walk with _me,_ you know I’d never-”

Slime shoved his hand away, fury burning behind his spectacles. “Then you should have stopped him! You _knew-_ you _knew_ about this, didn’t you? Everybody did! You say you love me, that you understand me, but you don’t even warn me that _my own family_ is going to kick me out?! You could’ve done the least, not to mention trying to _stop_ Condi, to make him give me more time… if I’d known he was going to do this I would have tried harder!” Slime’s eyes glistened; he looked to be on the edge of tears.

Pyro recoiled quickly, almost as if he were worried that Slime was going to bite him. He took a deep breath. “Slime… _Charlie…_ I didn’t know. I swear. Condi only discussed it with the senior Blackthorns, and even if I were older that wouldn’t include me. You know I’m second-lowest on the totem pole… they don’t trust me with anything,” he clasped his hands together. “Believe me if you want to, but I swear on the Blackthorn name that I didn’t know about this.”

“The Blackthorn name doesn’t mean much,” Slime mumbled dejectedly, looking down at the floor.

“Okay then, on King Jordan’s health, or Queen Julia’s... on _my own life,_ I had no part in this,” Pyro insisted.

Slime didn’t reply immediately, instead getting to his feet and turning towards his cousin. “Where did you want to go?” he sounded exhausted and worn-down, like a fox that had been run over with a horse cart.

“Library?” Pyro suggested with a half-hearted smile and he stepped out of the way to let Slime leave the broom closet.

Slime rubbed his forehead and replied, “Let’s go.”

* * *

The walk was silent and Charlie kept his eyes on the ground for the most part. He liked Pyro, quite genuinely, but Condi’s words about Pyro kept coming back. Pyro may understand more than anybody else, but he had never been in any real danger of being disowned. And though Charlie wanted to enjoy his last little while with his cousin, he couldn’t help but feel jealous.

Pyro heaved open the large oak door of the library, holding it open for Charlie to walk inside. It was deserted aside from one of the other young Blackthorns, Andrew, who was reading a comically small book in the corner. Charlie wasn’t sure if he’d ever actually spoken to Andrew Blackthorn - the family _was_ rather large and Andrew spent most of his time sculpting in one of the towers.

The door slammed shut loudly behind them and Charlie flinched. “Why are we here, Pyro?” he asked quietly.

“Because I’ve got something important to tell you and I didn’t exactly want to do it in a broom closet,” Pyro replied dryly. “Where are you planning to go, Charlie?”

The question took him by surprise. “It’s _Slimecicle,_ remember?” he shook his head dejectedly. “I don’t… I don’t know, Pyro. I’ve got the entire kingdom of Cypress… I’ll find somewhere eventually,” Charlie paused. “Maybe I’ll try the capital - no Blackthorns there - or the coast. It’s supposed to be nice now that that ice dragon’s gone.”

“You’d risk it in Irys?” Pyro questioned. The capital wasn’t a great place to live due to overpopulation and disrepair, but the dense populace would mean that it would be hard to track Charlie down there.

“It’s a good place to hide,” Charlie shrugged. “My family’s a superpower and is going to be trying to kill me soon, so might as well hide as best I can.” He sounded calm, but on the inside, Charlie was panicking. _Could I even live in Irys? I’ve lived here, out in the middle of nowhere, for my entire life… I don’t know how many people live in the capital, but if every family is even one quarter as big as mine…_ he gulped.

“Well, wherever you go…” Pyro paused. “I’m coming with you.”

_What?_ “I- Pyro, no! You have a life here, you don’t need to come with me!” Charlie felt as if he’d just been slapped in the face and told that he was adopted. _Why?_ “I don’t-”

Pyro shushed him. “I _hate_ it here, Slime. Trapped in a dingy old castle, us against the world? This isn’t how I want to live. Yeah, I love the villainy, but I’d rather be _out there,_ independent, following _my_ path, setting things on fire because I _want_ to, not because somebody older than me told me I had to,” he frowned. “I just didn’t want to abandon you.”

Charlie’s jaw dropped open. “You… you… you _poetic-_ ” he called Pyro a name his mother would have been ashamed to hear coming out of his mouth.

“Does that mean I can come with you?” Pyro grinned cheekily.

“Are you joking? ‘Course you can come with me, Pyro,” Charlie snorted. “You’d set me on fire if I say no.”

“I _wouldn’t,_ ” Pyro insisted, looking hurt.

“You totally would!” Charlie shot back.

“Okay, maybe I’d set you on fire _a little bit,_ but…” he broke off. “Somebody’s coming. Let’s hide and see what they’re up to,” and before Charlie could protest, Pyro had hauled him behind a nearby bookshelf.

When the door opened, it was revealed to be Condi and Grizzly, talking in hushed voices. They didn’t notice Charlie and Pyro, but Charlie had to strain to hear them. Andrew had also vanished, though Charlie suspected that he had just left.

“...absolute chaos,” Grizzly was saying. “The capital’s in an uproar and King Jordan’s desperate to find the culprit.”

Charlie exchanged a bewildered glance with Pyro, unsure what they could be talking about.

“You’re sure about this?” Condi replied pointedly. “This isn’t the first time you’ve been wrong, Griz.”

“Condi, I…” Grizzly looked as if he were biting back a sharp reply. “Yes, I’m sure. All Irys’ gates have been temporarily locked down. Nobody’s getting in or out for at least twenty-four hours,” he paused. “Do you think it was Technoblade, Condi?”

“That farm kid trying to start a revolution?” Condi scoffed. “It can’t be. He doesn’t have the brain, the guts, nor the power to do something like this. Whoever tried to assassinate King Jordan has money and lots of it. This was a professional job.”

“I wouldn’t underestimate ‘that farm kid’,” Grizzly made quotations in the air with his fingers. “He’s gaining quite a lot of public support.”

Condi laughed. “Nobody cares how much public support he has; Cypress is a monarchy, not a democracy. The kingship goes to the king’s eldest son or the Vice if there are no sons to give it to.” He said something more, but they were moving out of earshot and Charlie could no longer make out the words.

As soon as Condi and Grizzly were gone, Pyro grabbed Charlie by the shoulders. “Did you just hear what I heard?” he demanded in a harsh whisper. “Did someone really try to kill King Jordan?”

“I… I heard it, and I can’t believe it,” Charlie whispered back. “Why would someone want to kill the king?”

“I don’t really pay much attention to politics, but… the kingdom’s been unhappy with him for a while,” Pyro told him, “though I didn’t think it was enough to merit _an assassination attempt._ ”

“I hope they catch who did it,” Charlie wrung his hands together, an odd nervousness falling over him as if he were scared somebody was going to try to assassinate _him._

Pyro looked at him oddly. “Why?” he cocked his head to the side. “He’s not our king.”

“ _Technically,_ we do live in Cypress,” Charlie pointed out. Blackthorn Castle was built into the base of one of the mountains that surrounded Cypress and marked the border between them and the Sky Kingdom, and so even though the Blackthorns didn’t associate with Cypress, they were still inside the borders. “I dunno, I just don’t want him to die.”

“That’s not very villainous of you,” Pyro snorted. “Maybe this is the _real_ reason they’re kicking you out.”

“Hey!” Charlie exclaimed, and he had never felt more like punching his cousin in the arm.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Pyro held up his hands in an ‘I surrender’ gesture.

“Not funny,” Charlie frowned and promptly poked Pyro in the nose.

“We’d both best start packing soon,” Pyro pointed out, swatting at Charlie’s hand. “No more fooling around. I’m pretty sure Condi will order a hit on us if we’re not gone by dawn.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll just throw lots of slimes at whoever comes after us,” Charlie joked. “It’ll be _sure_ to slow them down.”

“Yeah, right,” Pyro rolled his eyes. “More like ‘make them mildly sticky and a whole lot of angry’.”

“Hey, Pyro?” Charlie caught him by the arm as he went to leave.

“Yeah?” he replied, raising an eyebrow.

“Thanks,” Charlie smiled.

“No problem. I’m wouldn’t let my little cousin wander around Cypress by himself - who do you think I am, Condifiction?” Pyro smirked and stepped away. “I’ll catch you at dawn by the main gate, alright?”

“Okay,” Charlie hesitated. “See you in the morning.”

Pyro waved and was gone.

* * *

“Where are you going, Wilbur?” Rhianna caught him as he left his room. He must’ve looked odd, packed and overdressed for the weather.

“I…” he couldn’t lie to her. Somebody would have to tell the others what he’d done and where he’d gone. “I’m leaving, Rhianna. Permanently.”

“What? Why?” she grabbed the sleeve of his coat. “Wilbur, explain to me what’s going on.”

“I’m going to learn magic,” Wilbur said. “Sir Carson and Schlatt have invited me to join them.” _Well, they haven’t_ yet _, but Ted seems confident that they will._

“The heroes?” Rhianna blinked. “Okay.”

“You’re… fine with that?” Wilbur’s brow furrowed, confused. “You’re not going to ask me to stay, or-”

She sighed. “Wilbur, everybody knows you’re not happy here and you were furious when you couldn’t become a squire,” Rhianna smiled sheepishly. “You’re my big brother, I want you to be happy. And if you have to leave and go learn how to be some magic hero to achieve that, I’m not going to stop you.” Then, without warning, she pulled Wilbur in for a hug.

After a few moments, Wilbur pulled back. “Thank you, Rhianna,” he smiled sadly. “I’ll miss you. Tell Charlie where I’ve gone, okay?”

She nodded. “Come back someday, Wilbur. I want to hear about all the adventures you have.”

“I promise,” Wilbur touched her shoulder reassuringly, letting silence once again fill the space between them before he broke it. “I have to leave.”

“Goodbye, big brother,” Rhianna leaned back against the wall and smiled gently.

“Bye, Rhianna.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As it says on the tin, time for some WHOLESOME FAMILY VIBES!!  
> Dear person in the comments who said Rihanna was their fav (I'm sorry, I don't remember your url), this is for you.  
> In other news, I started a Tumblr sideblog for this story and extended universe! Go follow me @cyrus-crow - I'm answering any and all questions about this AU if you've got anything burning you'd like to ask!


	5. Wilbur's Dream Comes True

Wilbur took the stairs in one jump, sprinting out the side door and hurtling towards the front of the building, desperate to make up for the lost time. Stal and Ted were gone from the stables and he feared that it may be too late. The ground was still damp from the previous night’s rain and he nearly slipped more than once. 

Wilbur rounded the corner and skidded to a halt, gasping for air. “Wait-” he managed, barely taking in the prickly look he could feel he was getting from Schlatt and the raised eyebrow from Carson. “I gotta- I gotta speak to you.”

“You’re…” Carson snapped his fingers as he tried to place Wilbur’s face. “You’re the kid from last night! What do you want?” he wasn’t angry, but he did sound as if they were in a hurry and needed to leave _soon._

“Are you leaving?” Wilbur asked, just to confirm.

“As fast as we possibly can,” Schlatt rumbled. “Summons to the capital. King asked for us personally,” he seemed pleased about that, but Wilbur couldn’t quite tell with a hood once again masking his face and the gruff, clipped sentences he was speaking in.

“Why? What happened?” Wilbur demanded, clenching his hands into fists. _I thought they didn’t do that sort of thing anymore… Ted said that’s why they need_ me.

“Nothing you won’t hear about soon, surely,” Carson said pointedly. “We have to go _now,_ so whatever you wanted to talk to us about, either tell us the important bits or leave the autograph request until the next time we pass through here.”

“I don’t want an autograph. I want to come with you,” he glanced at Ted, the horse giving him a reassuring nod. He launched into the set of lines he’d prepared over the last few minutes, fiddling with the strap of the lute slung over his back. “I heard you were in the market for a healer.”

“We are-” Carson started, but Schlatt stepped forward and drew his hood off in one move, piercing eyes of coal and flame suddenly staring Wilbur down.

“How did you know about that?” the goat-man demanded, nostrils flaring.

Wilbur didn’t want to lie. He didn’t like lying - all of this was bad enough. So he told the truth. “Ted told me,” Wilbur said, trying to hold Schlatt’s gaze as long as he could without flinching.

“My horse?” Carson exclaimed, surprised. Ted smiled toothily as everybody turned their gazes on him.

“I know it sounds far-fetched,” Wilbur started, but Carson shook his head.

“We’ve seen a lot of crazy things in our lives, kid. Get on with it,” he smiled with a sense of urgency.

“I’m a healer and I can speak to animals,” Wilbur said, “and I want to join you guys.” He crossed his fingers behind his back.

Schlatt and Carson exchanged an unsure look. Wilbur could understand this - some random citizen walking up to them and asking to join their party was something they shouldn’t just _agree_ to. Plus, it had just been Carson and Schlatt, the dynamic duo, for _years._ Accepting someone else might be weird.

Ted whinnied loudly, getting the attention of the group. As he spoke, Wilbur knew that Carson and Schlatt could only hear various horse noises, but the point got across anyway. “I support this kid! He’s doing really well and you guys _need_ a healer to keep doing your jobs!” Ted bumped Wilbur in the shoulder with his snout. “Say yes, _come on,_ don’t be stupid!” he looked directly at Carson.

“Ted seems to like him,” Carson shrugged, looking over at Schlatt, who still seemed uneasy. “If we’re going to take this job… a healer could be useful.”

“Do you _actually_ know what you’re talking about?” Schlatt demanded of Wilbur. “There’s magic about you,” his eyes swept Wilbur up and down, “but frankly, you’re young and definitely haven’t had any experience adventuring or fighting.”

_And I never will have unless you take me with you!_ “I know what I’m doing, isn’t that enough?” he replied, taking one step forward. “You were both my age at one point - surely you remember what your life was like?”

Carson’s gaze trailed to the ground. “I do,” he murmured. “I was an orphan with a stolen horse and big dreams that had already been crushed beyond belief,” the knight looked up suddenly and put his hand on Wilbur’s shoulder. “We’re leaving immediately. Get your horse and follow us.”

Wilbur grinned, ecstatic. As he dashed away, however, he heard Schlatt ask Carson “Are you sure this is the right decision?”

Wilbur didn’t hear Carson’s reply.

* * *

“I’ve never been to the capital,” Wilbur commented cheerily, spurring Milo along to ride between Carson and Schlatt. Ted winked at him and the smile splitting his face only grew.

“Believe me, it’s nowhere near as grandiose as it’s made out to be,” Schlatt grumbled. Wilbur could practically see the grey cloud hovering over the goat-man’s head.

“Don’t mind Schlatt, he just doesn’t want you to get hurt because of him and Carson,” Ted reassured him. Wilbur didn’t want to reply in front of Schlatt and Carson, so he just nodded.

“The palace’s gorgeous,” Carson put in, “and the town’s pretty on the surface. It’s just when you start exploring you find that the place is pretty crappy to live in.” He frowned as if recalling a sour memory.

“The Crownguard does a great job moderating the palace and the area directly surrounding it, but…” Schlatt’s lips curled up into a snarl. “Who’s in charge of those lackeys, anyway?”

“I think his name’s Alexander?” Carson scratched his head. “Sir Alexander… something,” he shrugged. “I only know them by reputation.”

“He’s not doing a great job in Irys,” Schlatt snorted. He proceeded to call the crown guard a few names Wilbur would’ve had to have been held at swordpoint to repeat.

Wilbur looked appalled, while Carson rolled his eyes. Stal flicked his ears and grunted, “What he said.”

“King Jordan’s doing his best,” Carson had turned to Wilbur and was now speaking directly to him instead. “He might be able to moderate the Crownguard pretty well, but the crown guard and Sir Alexander are the ones overseeing the Cityguard, which means some things get, uh, lost in translation.”

“Why has King Jordan summoned you?” Wilbur asked, his hands tightening on Milo’s reins.

“Well…” Carson leaned back and scratched his head, looking past Wilbur to the goat-man. “It’s a little…”

“Somebody tried to murder him,” Schlatt explained pointedly. “We don’t know anything more than that. I can guess that he wants _us_ to find out who wants him dead.”

“Not how I would have put it, but true,” Carson commented. “We’ve done a little work for the crown in the past, getting rid of pesky bandits and monsters and such, so I suspect he’s chosen us because he can trust us and his various -guards have failed him.”

“Who would try to kill _King Jordan?_ ” Wilbur regretted the question as soon as he asked because Schlatt held up a three-fingered paw and started counting.

“Let’s see - Queen Julia of the Sky Kingdom, Technoblade, possibly Vice Taylor…” he frowned, looking at his paw. “I’ve run out of fingers. But trust me, a lot of people would like to kill King Jordan, or at least have him out of the way so _they_ can become king.”

“Who’s Technoblade?” Wilbur asked. There wasn’t much in the way of news coming through Eagle’s Burrow, so he wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t heard of this person.

Carson laughed. “That’s the thousand-gold question right there, Wilbur!”

Wilbur was momentarily confused before Carson went on.

“Nobody knows who Technoblade is,” he explained. “We only know that he wants the crown and is gaining more public support by the day. People are unhappy with King Jordan and they’re willing to rally behind a man whose face they’ve never seen to get him off the throne.”

“And we’re on King Jordan’s side?” Wilbur prompted. He couldn’t see why they wouldn’t be - King Jordan was the rightful king of Cypress, after all. King Nathan hadn’t had any sons, so it couldn’t pass to the eldest, therefore the crown was given to his Vice when he died. That was how it worked - an odd combination of lineage and appointment that seemed to work well. Sometimes a family kept the throne for generations, other times it changed bloodline multiple times in a row. It was such that nobody knew who was part of the original royal family anymore - and Wilbur suspected that was the point. To keep one family from having power for too long. It was about an even split between kings that were married to those who were unmarried - all must be knights to be appointed Vice, therefore making all kings previous knights as well, and many knights were unmarried.

Carson shook his head. “We’re on the side of good, not on the side of any particular person. We’re helping King Jordan now because we don’t want to see an innocent man assassinated.”

_I suppose that makes sense,_ Wilbur thought. He didn’t think about how he would feel if the ‘good’ thing was to turn against the monarchy. He’d been taught that the crown was always good, no matter what, but…

Carson breathed a sigh of relief as they turned around a bend and onto the open road. “Finally!” he spurred Ted forward. “Let’s go, team!”

The horses picked up speed as they charged down the road towards the horizon and by extension, Irys. _I’m going to see the capital,_ Wilbur thought. Even with everything that Schlatt and Carson had said, he was still bursting with excitement. _I’m going to meet the_ king!

* * *

Night had fallen quickly, and though Carson had insisted that they proceed for another few hours due to their late start at noon, they eventually halted in what seemed to be the middle of nowhere. There were no structures around, only a small forest, which Carson pegged as where they should camp.

“We can start a fire here,” Schlatt gestured to an area on the edge of the wood, “and sleep under the trees.”

Wilbur slid off of Milo’s back, giving the chestnut horse a rub on the shoulder as a thank-you. He’d moved some of his belongings around during the ride, so he had to go into the saddlebags to get his (rather tattered and disused for obvious reasons) bedroll. When Carson saw it, he frowned.

“You’re going to break your back sleeping in that,” he said. “Take one of the spares from my bags - we always have a few handy.”

“I don’t want to-” Wilbur started.

Carson raised an eyebrow. “ _Or_ you can sleep in that and freeze to death or wake up to it being infested by ants.”

“I’ll borrow one of yours,” Wilbur said hurriedly, and he stuffed the old bedroll back into Milo’s saddlebags. Wilbur dashed over to Ted and reached for the clasps on one of his bags.

“Not that one,” Ted spoke suddenly, taking Wilbur by surprise. “Other side, far left.” The white stallion hadn’t spoken to him since their journey had started - neither had Stal, now that he thought about it.

Wilbur murmured an apology and went to the bag Ted had indicated. Indeed, there were a couple of bedrolls tucked tightly inside - Wilbur selected one and brought it back to their campsite, where Schlatt had already started a roaring fire.

“How’d you-” Wilbur couldn’t see any flint and steel, nor any other kind of fire-lighting material.

“Start a fire so quickly?” Schlatt seemed amused. “It’s one of my ‘funky demon powers’,” he used his paws to make air quotes, “as Carson likes to put it.” Schlatt raised one paw and Wilbur watched, transfixed, as a tiny flame spun to life in his palm. It wasn’t much bigger than the average candle flame, but it was enough to certainly light most things.

“I-I don’t mean to sound rude, sir,” Wilbur’s hands fiddled with the strap of his lute ( _George’s,_ his mind whispered, but he pushed the thought away - George had never played it anyway) as he gazed at the demon nervously, “but I heard demons had shapeshifting powers. Everybody seems to know you as a goat and you go through an awful lot of effort to hide your face.” He recalled the cloak Schlatt had been wearing when they’d met, now stowed in Stal’s saddlebags.

“Ah, yes, that,” Schlatt stood up, wiping soot from his hands. “To leave Hell, I had to leave some of my powers behind as well. I lost the ability to shapeshift, along with others.” He spoke nonchalantly, but Wilbur could sense that there was more to the story. “To be honest, Hell wasn’t that great anyway,” he shrugged. “I’m glad to be rid of it, even if I did lose my perfect disguise.”

“You left your _home_ and you're just _fine_ with it?” Wilbur exclaimed. He glanced around, conscious of all the sounds in the dark and hoping that he hadn’t been too loud.

“Sure,” Schlatt raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that what you just did?” The burning flames in Schlatt’s eyes had died down a bit, leaving dark coals of eye sockets with touches of red and orange drifting through them at random intervals.

Wilbur had to think about his response for a moment. “I guess so,” he muttered, “but it hasn’t really sunk in yet.” His thoughts had flashed back to his family a few times on the road, but he hadn’t dwelled on them. Now he thought of his parents, Rhianna, and Charlie, of which the latter two must be missing him very much. He wasn’t sure how his parents would react to finding one of their many children gone - probably not at all, based on their reactions to David’s departure to become a squire.

Surprisingly, Schlatt patted Wilbur reassuringly on the shoulder. “Get some sleep, kid,” he advised. “Carson, are you taking the first watch?” Schlatt called over his shoulder. 

“Yeah, I’ll wake you in a few hours,” Carson was sitting next to the fire, silver-and-gold armour gleaming in the flickering light. He tapped the hilt of the sword strapped to his left hip. “I’ll get both of you if there’s any urgent trouble.”

Wilbur set down his bedroll towards the forest, still in sight of the fire but not close enough that he would overheat during the night. He sat down on top of it as he organized his things and there was a pang in his chest as he lay the lute down next to him. _What if something happens to it overnight?_

“I was waiting for you to figure it out, you know,” a soft voice murmured, and Wilbur looked up to see Milo staring at him. “I never told you because it wasn’t the right time.”

“You knew this _whole time?”_ Wilbur whispered fiercely, glancing at Schlatt and Carson. The goat-man had disappeared into his bedroll and the knight wasn’t paying attention to him.

“Of course I did. Don’t you remember my voice? I was one of your ‘invisible friends’ when you were a wee child,” Milo explained.

“You- everybody always thought I was just making that up,” Wilbur murmured, “and when my friends disappeared…”

“Too dangerous to let you know too young,” Milo smiled sadly, “especially so close to the end of a war.”

“Milo…” the horse shook his head, cutting Wilbur off.

“Sleep, child. There will be time for talking tomorrow,” the chestnut horse murmured as he stepped out of the firelight to join Ted and Stal.

Wilbur clambered into his bedroll and was instantly glad for the warm fire as a cool breeze rustled his blanket. He stared deeply into the flames as he started to drift off, exhausted from his long day, and as he fell into slumber he could’ve sworn something was staring back from the fiery depths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seem to have forgotten that Wilbur is the main character and therefore deserves more screentime than Charlie XD  
> The next chapter will also be Wilbur-centric, with possibly a glance at Charlie near the end!  
> Our small-town kid is going to meet the king... :0


	6. Ted’s Nightmare History Class + Do Goats Eat Sausages?

_Wilbur was standing on a stone tower, gazing down on a bloody, flaming battlefield with shock and horror. Soldiers were fighting, so soaked in the blood of their foes and comrades that Wilbur could no longer tell which side they were fighting for. Wilbur had never seen Hell, but he suspected it looked something like the scene before him._

_“I didn’t expect to see you here,” a voice said, surprised, and Wilbur recognized it instantly as Ted’s._

_Wilbur whirled around, expecting to see a white stallion, but was instead greeted by a tall man with dark brown hair and eyes of the same shade. “Ted?” Wilbur squinted as if he expected the man to change into a familiar face any moment now._

_Ted held out his arms, looking down at them with visible confusion. “I’ve had this dream before… but I’m not usually a biped, nor am I usually so aware that it’s a dream,” his face scrunched into a thoughtful expression. “Maybe it’s because you’re here.”_

_“I… I’m in your dream?” Wilbur stammered._ This must be the war _, he thought, glancing over his shoulder at the battlefield._

_“More magic must be surfacing now that you’ve started using it,” Ted crossed his arms and walked over to the tower wall, stumbling awkwardly as he used two legs instead of four. He caught himself against the stone, leaning heavily against it. “Dream-walking is quite rare… I knew you were special, Wilbur.” The not-horse smiled at him with too many teeth._

_“Wh- where are we?” Wilbur asked, moving to stand next to Ted. “Is this more of a nightmare or a memory?” It seemed like a nightmare to him - screaming and yelling and_ fighting _, all so close to the walls of whatever structure they were standing on._

_“Both,” Ted smiled sadly. “Welcome to the War of Rah’ōxah, Wilbur Soot.” Ted turned on his heel and strode towards the ladder leading down from the tower. “Come on. There’s something you need to see,” he beckoned to Wilbur and started climbing down the ladder._

_Wilbur followed closely behind Ted. “What year is this?” he asked as he descended and Ted leapt down onto the ground._

_“2206 A.T.,” Ted answered, glancing out an arrow slit. “This is the battle that caused Queen Julia to decide it was time to get rid of King Nathan. Thousands, maybe even millions, of Sky Kingdom troops die on this border over the next week.”_

_“The Battle of Icicle Mountain,” Wilbur recalled. His gaze snapped to Ted. “You were_ there?”

_Ted nodded, a grim expression on his face. He gestured for Wilbur to look out through the arrow slit and continued, “There’s Icicle Mountain there, right in front of this fort. It’s half in the Sky Kingdom, half in Cypress, but the Sky Kingdom had always laid claim to it, which explains the stupid name. King Nathan pushes this border until Cypress finally has ahold of the entire mountain. Icicle Mountain becomes the Cyrian stronghold and is renamed Nathan’s Hold, and we hold out until the end of the war because of it.”_

_Wilbur nodded along as Ted explained. “I’ve heard about it in history books,” he said. “King Jordan ended the war by giving Rah’ōxah’s bones to Queen Julia.”_ After Queen Julia’s two assassins murdered King Nathan _, he added silently._

_Ted started to walk again, down a small flight of stairs into the fort’s courtyard. It was small and packed with soldiers equipping weapons and armour as well as lighting fires, restringing bows, and sharpening blades. Wilbur followed him, shivering as a soldier ran straight through him._

_“Did you ever meet either of the Windwing spies?” Wilbur asked. “Sir Peter and Sir Cyrus?” Two Windwings, masquerading as Cyrians in their human forms, had climbed the ranks throughout the war, only revealing themselves at the very end to slit King Nathan’s throat. Windwings were shapeshifters with three preset forms - fully human, fully avian, and a hybrid between the two. Many of the Windwings outside had been either fully human or hybrids. The Windwing queen, Queen Julia, most closely resembled a snowy owl in her hybrid and avian forms._

_Ted paused, hesitant. His hands clenched into fists and he murmured, “Yes.” Somehow, Wilbur could still hear him despite the clamour of battle around them. “Well, I guess… I guess I didn’t strictly_ meet _them,” he looked back at Wilbur, “but I was in the stables in the capital the night King Nathan was killed and I saw Sir Cyrus throw Sir Peter out the window.”_

_Wilbur’s jaw dropped. “So it’s true? Sir Cyrus turned on Sir Peter and saved King Jordan’s life?” Many people didn’t believe it, despite King Jordan’s public statement surrounding the night’s events. He hadn’t believed it, his brothers convincing him otherwise._

_“Well…” Ted scratched his head. “I can’t say for sure, but I know a Windwing with black feathers attacked Sir Peter. I wasn’t close enough to make out exactly who it was.” Sir Cyrus was a crow -_ that _everybody knew. Sir Peter’s avian form was more closely guarded, though there was a rumour he was a peregrine falcon._

_“You- you’ve seen_ so much _,” Wilbur was aghast. He wished he’d seen half of the things Ted had. He glanced back at the battle._ Okay, maybe I only wish I’d seen some of the things Ted had.

_Ted shrugged. “Horses go through a lot,” he said. “People don’t tend to think of us as as sentient as other species, so we get shuffled around and see more horrible things than any being ever should,” Ted paused. “You could change that, you know.”_

_“How? You want me to start a movement to give horses rights or something?” Wilbur almost laughed._

_“No, no, just raise awareness that horses can be traumatized too,” Ted gestured at the scene around them. “Case in point.”_

_“You seem…” Wilbur hesitated, not wanting to be rude._

_Ted finished his sentence for him. “Fine?” he sighed. “I try my best. I didn’t get it as bad as some of my comrades, who saw more battles than I did,” he flinched as something beyond the castle walls burst into flames. “Let’s go inside, Wilbur.”_

_Wilbur was all too glad to follow him into the keep, down a side corridor into a room nobody seemed to be using. “Why were you in the capital, Ted?”_

_“What?” the question seemed to take him by surprise, his brow furrowed._

_“On the night King Nathan died,” Wilbur elaborated. “Why were you in the capital? The war was still going.”_

_“Oh… that,” Ted shifted uneasily. “I got shot with an arrow and was there for healing. The wound was too bad to be healed by a regular doctor, but the knight I was fighting alongside at that point insisted that I be healed no matter what, so I was sent to Irys. I missed a large chunk of the war’s latter half,” he hesitated. “The knight died while I was there.”_

_“I’m sorry,” Wilbur murmured. “What was his name?” He sat down in a nearby chair, still looking at Ted._

_“Her,” Ted corrected. “Her name was May Redwing, but nobody else knew that. The world knew her as Sir Callum Redwing.” He ran a hand through his hair, leaning back against the stone wall. “She was as brave and as noble as any man.”_

_Before Wilbur could come up with a response, the world around them jerked suddenly, causing Ted to stumble and Wilbur to grab onto the chair. “What-”_

_“Time for you to go, Wilbur!” Ted exclaimed, crossing the room in two paces. He grabbed the collar of Wilbur’s shirt and yanked him out of the chair, throwing him to the floor with the force of his horse form._

* * *

Wilbur’s eyes flew open and he realized that it was dawn. Sir Carson was kneeling beside him, shaking him awake, and Wilbur managed to mumble something to the effect of “I’m up, I’m up.”

“Schlatt’s making breakfast, but if you want any you’ll have to get up quickly,” Carson joked, “or else he’ll eat it all.” The knight stood up, brushing a fleck of dirt from his otherwise-spotless silver armour. Wilbur wondered how he kept it so pristine without a squire.

Wilbur yawned, covering his mouth with one hand. He waited until Carson had moved away before slipping out of his bedroll, stretching his arms out quickly. Wilbur gathered up his things, rolling up the sleeping bag and slinging the lute over his back.

Schlatt muttered a greeting as Wilbur approached, seemingly very concentrated on the sausages he was cooking over the fire. Carson gave him a nod, fiddling with the straps of the shield he usually wore on his right arm. With a start, Wilbur noticed that he was lacking a right hand - how he hadn’t seen it before, Wilbur didn’t know. _Probably hidden by the shield._

Wilbur didn’t want to pry, but Carson noticed him staring at the stump and shrugged. “I bet you’re wondering what happened to me,” he started, leaning forward on the stump he was sitting on. “I got this while escaping from Hell with Schlatt.”

“Carson-” Schlatt’s voice was low and rang with a warning, signalling to Wilbur that the demon didn’t trust him much yet - which Wilbur was okay with. Not blindly trusting someone you’d just met, especially a fan, was most definitely a good thing.

“Relax, Schlatt,” Carson waved his left hand dismissively. “Wilbur’s probably heard rumours; it’s best to dispel them before his imagination runs away with them,” Carson turned back to Wilbur. “This is the best I can give you right now since Schlatt doesn’t think I should trust you with the details,” he shot Schlatt a mildly hostile look. “Anyway, Schlatt had a friend. Another demon. This demon was of the mind that I was somehow either evil and/or stealing his best friend, and so when we went to leave Hell, he betrayed Schlatt and attempted to kill me. Schlatt saved my life but not my hand.”

Wilbur hesitated. “What happened to the other demon?” he asked, fiddling his thumbs absentmindedly.

“He… he died,” Carson paused. “At least, we think he did.” After a glare from Schlatt, he added, “We’re _pretty sure_ he did. Demons are pretty hard to kill, but I don’t think a lot of creatures can survive being thrown into a pit of lava.”

“I didn’t _throw_ him into a pit of lava,” Schlatt pointed out. “He _fell._ ” Flashes of emotion sparked through Schlatt’s gaze - Wilbur could identify regret, sadness, relief, and guilt as well as joy. Schlatt looked down at the sausages and announced: “Breakfast’s ready.”

“Regardless, I would’ve been dead thrice-over if Schlatt hadn’t saved me,” Carson went on, pulling a knife from his boot and using it to impale a sausage. “A jealous spider demon is _not_ someone you want to cross if you want to live.” He laughed, and Wilbur let out a half-hearted giggle.

“The way you say ‘jealous’ makes it sound like he was my boyfriend,” Schlatt snorted, his mouth twitching momentarily into an expression of amusement. “We worked together and were best friends, that’s all.”

“I’m just saying,” Carson raised his hands in an ‘I surrender’ gesture, “that betraying, maiming, and trying to murder someone just because your best friend is their friend as well _kind of_ sounds like a jealous ex thing.”

Schlatt rolled his eyes, which was an interesting thing to witness with goat-slit eyes. He huffed a sigh and took a sausage for himself, distinctly disinterested with being subject to more teasing.

Wilbur used a sharp stick to grab a sausage and bit into it. It tasted mildly of charcoal, but other than that, it wasn’t bad. He took another once he’d finished - Schlatt had made more than enough for all three of them.

“So, Wilbur,” Schlatt fixed Wilbur with his dark gaze, eyes almost completely black with just a hint of sparks around the edges. “Where did you learn to play?” he gestured to the instrument slung over Wilbur’s back.

“Uh…” Wilbur hesitated, fingers curling around the strap protectively. “My brother David used to play. After he left to become a squire, I… I took it up.” He didn’t have to mention that he’d stolen the instrument from George.

“Do you sing?” Carson asked, muffled slightly by the food in his mouth. Schlatt just sighed, seemingly done with trying to correct Carson for the moment.

“I do,” Wilbur smiled. “More than I play, actually.” He could hear hoofsteps behind him but was still surprised when another voice joined the conversation.

“ _Sing,_ ” Ted hissed in his ear, then poked him in the shoulder with his nose. “I haven’t heard you sing yet either and I’m looking forward to judging you.”

“Shush, Ted,” Wilbur placed his palm on the side of the horse’s face and gently pushed him away. He turned his attention back to Schlatt and Carson, trying to ignore the horse. “If you want I could… sing something for you guys?”

Carson shrugged. “Well, you’re a bard, right? Your magic is supposed to revolve around music. We haven’t exactly seen you… do magic other than speaking to Ted, so consider it a demonstration. If you’re comfortable.”

“Yeah, I understand,” Wilbur retrieved the lute from his back and strummed a chord experimentally. It rang slightly sour, so Wilbur did a quick tune of the instrument whilst Schlatt and Carson watched.

“In all my five thousand and twenty-four years, I’ve played exactly one instrument,” Schlatt commented thoughtfully. “It changed names a few times, but I think humans call it a ‘recorder’ in this century.”

“And it’s annoying as crap!” Stal interjected loudly from where he was standing by the road.

Wilbur managed to get it back in tune, strumming a few more chords. “Okay, I think I have it,” he said, drawing their attention back again. “This… this is a song called _The Long and Winding Road._ ”

It was a relatively slow song with a faster chorus, and Wilbur struck a wrong note here and there, but on the whole, it turned out pretty well. He let the final chord ring and looked up timidly, a sheepish smile on his face.

Carson gave him a few slow claps. “That was great, Wilbur!” he sounded genuine. “What did you think, Schlatt?” he elbowed the goat demon that had moved onto the same log as he sometime during the song.

“Interesting,” Schlatt cocked his head slightly. “Not my kind of music, but… good.” He folded his paws in his lap, his face taking on a thoughtful expression.

“That means ‘absolutely amazing’ in Schlatt-speak,” Carson joked. “Apparently demons have a hard time expressing their emotions.”

Schlatt rolled his eyes with a huff. He tried to cover up the soft smirk on his face by resting his face on his paws, but he didn’t do a very good job of it. After an expectant pause, Schlatt removed his paws from his face and said gruffly, “We should get riding soon.”

“I have your-” Wilbur started, reaching down towards the bedroll he’d borrowed from Carson. Carson started to lift his stump before frowning and waving dismissively with his other hand.

“Just keep it, Wilbur,” Carson shrugged. “You’re going to need it, after all.” The knight yawned, leaning back and stretching out his arms. “Ted?” he called.

The white horse whinnied and cantered over to the edge of the fire, tossing his mane. “Yes, boss?” Ted replied.

Wilbur laughed, eliciting a confused glance from Carson.

The knight stood up and brushed the dust from the iron greaves covering his shins. “Come on, let’s get the horses ready to go,” Carson held out a hand to help Wilbur up from where he was sitting on the ground.

Wilbur took it and clambered to his feet. He yawned, swinging his lute back over his back and making sure the strap was tight. Schlatt was already putting out the fire and cleaning up their campsite.

“We should be able to make it to Irys by evening, maybe even by high noon,” Schlatt predicted, glancing at the sky. “Depends on the roads and whether or not we encounter bandits.”

“Are there many bandits on the roads?” Wilbur asked, striding over to Milo and feeding the horse some oats from the saddlebags.

“Too many,” Schlatt shook his head sadly. “We do what we can, but their numbers have been climbing ever since Technoblade started riling people up. And then there’s the White Rose and the Misfits…”

“Who are they?” Wilbur stroked Milo’s mane absentmindedly and the horse nudged his cheek.

“The White Rose is a guild of thieves, assassins, and generally rotten people,” Carson answered, climbing onto Ted’s back with a grunt. “The Misfits are a small group of bandits that do commission work as well as general crimes. You need something stolen or burned or someone kidnapped or killed? If you want it done well, you go through the White Rose. You want it done fast, you go to the Misfits.”

“They’re all evil to the core,” Ted commented haughtily.

“Let’s just hope we don’t run into anybody,” Schlatt flicked Stal’s reins and spurred him onto the road. “I’ll take the lead today.”

“Fair enough,” Carson checked the straps on his shield and the iron helmet hanging from Ted’s saddle, before going after Schlatt.

Wilbur quickly climbed up into Milo’s saddle, biting his tongue. He didn’t want to seem like a burden, so he grabbed Milo’s reins with more force than necessary, causing the horse to flash him a concerned look. “Sorry,” Wilbur muttered, patting Milo’s neck.

“Wilbur?” Carson called back over his shoulder.

  
“Coming!” and Wilbur and Milo trotted out onto the dirt path, once again heading towards the horizon and the distant capital. A rush of elation burst through Wilbur as Milo fell into line beside Carson and the wind started to catch Wilbur’s hair. _I’m going to make my family proud,_ he promised silently. _Wilbur Soot… hero of Cypress._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ted is quickly becoming the exposition character, lol!  
> Don't have much to say about this one other than YAY THE MISFITS FINALLY GET MENTIONED!!! XD


	7. The Soot Family Adopts Two More Boys

_“You’ll never win, Cyrus!” Sir Peter called, tilting his wings to soar higher into the sky. He looked down at the crow-man with disgust. “You’ll be arrested for treason before you can say ‘King Nathan’s rotting corpse’!”_

_Cyrus beat his wings twice and shot towards the grey-feathered Windwing, slashing out with his sword. There was a clang as their blades met, ringing out in the dark, open sky._

_“Unless you kill me, of course,” Sir Peter taunted, flexing his talons. “You could make up quite a convincing story…”_

_“I won’t kill you, Pete!” Cyrus yelled, falling back by a spear-length. “You’re my friend, even if you did try to kill Vice Jordan.”_

_“I only did what our queen ordered us to do!” Pete spat. “You’re the one that betrayed our entire kingdom! You were willing to lose us the war by saving King Nathan’s life, you stinking piece of dungeon fodder! I hope she sentences you to the worst punishment imaginable, Cyrus!” He swiftly sheathed his sword and shot towards the distant mountains of the Sky Kingdom, his huge wingspan giving him a distinct advantage over Cyrus._

_Cyrus grit his beak and flew after Pete, glancing down at the scenery of Cypress below the two Windwings. He could desert… he could escape right now - in his human form, he had a chance at being undiscovered. After all, he’d made it five years in the Cyrian army._

_But at the same time, Queen Julia would demand his retrieval. And though Vice - now King - Jordan had seen Cyrus defending his life, how many would truly believe him? His face would be recognized - maybe he could make it in his avian form, but that was no life. Eating roadkill and living as an animal was not for a knight._

_His only chance at survival was to go home and take whatever punishment Queen Julia put upon him. But…_

_His mind flashed to King Nathan. Their first mission had been to assassinate the king and his vice. Their second… only Sir Peter knew the details, but Cyrus knew it must concern the king’s illegitimate son, born in a tavern of a girl with no destiny. And his mind could only guess at what the cruel queen would do with such a child. He was already a traitor - more treason would matter not._

_As the wind hurtled by his feathers and the mountains drew closer, Sir Cyrus Crow made his decision._

_Somehow, he would save this child._

* * *

“No,” he insisted, clenching his hands into fists. “I won’t stand for this, son.”

“I’m not your son,” the red-haired man shot back, “and I don’t care what you think. This is what we do. Our client is willing to pay us more money than you’ve ever seen for this job.”

“I know we’re not exactly the best people…” he hesitated. “But you have to see that this is _beyond_ wrong. Kidnapping a child? Son, please-”

“I am not your son!” he spat. “I am the leader of this group and you _will_ listen to me. I don’t care who you used to be and I certainly don’t care about what you think might be ‘wrong’.”

The older man sighed. “Very well, then. I’ll follow your orders.”

“Good,” the redhead shook his head. “We need you.”

“Just…” he reached out and caught the other by the arm. “If it goes sour, _please_ reconsider. We don’t know what our client wants to do with this- this _kid._ ”

For a moment his face contorted in anger, then softened. “I trust you,” he shook his head. “Fine. I’ll humour your _morals,”_ he spat out the last word, showing that he didn’t think very highly of it. The redhead turned and stormed away towards their cart, leaving the other standing by himself in the rain.

_Did I do this all wrong?_

* * *

“Move!” Pyro shoved Charlie into an alley, knocking the wind out of Charlie’s lungs. “We don’t want them seeing us, idiot!” he hissed as the cart rattled by.

“Why not?” Charlie was genuinely bewildered, blinking at Pyro. “We’re not doing anything wrong.”

“You’re still wearing the Blackthorn crest,” Pyro rolled his eyes. “So am I. Most of these people will kill a Blackthorn on sight.”

Suddenly feeling sick, Charlie unpinned the crest from his cloak and threw it into the mud, a satisfying clang ringing out. His cloak slid from his shoulders but he no longer cared, letting it fall to the ground as well.

“Charlie…” Pyro pinched the bridge of his nose. “Now you’re going to get _soaked.”_

“I don’t care,” Charlie replied in a monotone voice. “They don’t care about me or my things, so why should I care about theirs?” Charlie spun on his heel and charged back out onto the main street, bravely ignoring the rain crashing down upon his shoulders.

“Charlie- wait!”

Footsteps squelched in the mud behind him but he didn’t turn, ploughing ahead towards the inn on the corner. It was the middle of the afternoon, but the rain clouds darkened the sky to near-night levels of darkness. Lanterns hung by the inn’s doors, allowing Charlie to see it clearly.

Charlie pushed on the door and found it strikingly heavy, but with a bit of effort, he managed to work it open. When he looked around the main level of the inn, currently doubling as a tavern, he was stunned.

People were laughing, singing, and dancing in every corner of the room, so it seemed, giving the entire atmosphere an elated, fun feel. A group of boys Charlie’s age were playing poker in the centre of the room, the oldest maybe even edging on Condi. Somebody was playing the fiddle in the far corner, the source of all the joy and merriment. In Charlie’s years, he’d never seen a scene like this. He gaped, open-mouthed.

One of the boys ran up to him, this one younger than Charlie. “Hello, traveller!” he tipped an imaginary hat. “Are you here for a room or the party?” he grinned cheerily.

“Uh- what’s the occasion?” Charlie gestured to the room.

“Shae Wildwood just came back from his full-Cypress tour!” the boy gestured to the fiddler. “A legendary musician, born right here in Eagle’s Burrow!”

Charlie had never heard of him, but the name _Eagle’s Burrow_ struck a chord in the back of his mind. He had a feeling this place was important… but why?

“I’m here for the party,” Charlie decided firmly. He could hear footsteps outside the still-open door and he knew it must be Pyro.

“Awesome! You won’t regret it, uh… what’s your name?” the boy asked.

Charlie hesitated. Should he say Slimecicle? He glanced around the room again. There was no need to, he figured. “I’m Charlie,” he answered, holding out his hand to shake.

The boy shook it fiercely. “I’m Charlie too! The name’s Charlie Soot and this is my family’s inn,” he beamed at Charlie. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to my brothers! You look like you’re about the same age as-” Charlie’s grin faltered. “Nevermind.”

“Who am I the same age as?” Charlie asked, letting the Soot boy tug his arm towards the poker table.

“Well, my older brother Wilbur,” Charlie scratched the back of his head, “but he disappeared yesterday. Rhianna said he’d gone with the heroes that had been staying here, but…”

“You’re worried about him,” with a pang, Charlie wished that his brothers cared about him this way. Neither Condi nor Grizzly would worry about him, now that he was gone.

“Yeah,” the boy’s smile returned. “No more time for being sad, this is a party!” he gently shoved Charlie towards the congregation of teens and young adults. “Soots, this is my new friend Charlie!”

_New friend?_ Charlie blinked. _I hadn’t… I didn’t…_ he then realized that the Soots were all staring at him. “Uh… hi,” he managed with a small wave. “I just- I just met Charlie…”

“Nathan’s beard, you’re _soaked,”_ one of the older boys pointed out. “Here.” Somebody passed Charlie a cloak, which he gratefully swung around his shoulders.

“Thanks,” Charlie murmured. “What- what are your names?” he turned slightly to look down at the other Charlie.

“The one that gave you the cloak is Matt,” Charlie pointed at each sibling as he explained. “Then there’s Dan, George, Jack, and Rhianna,” he gestured to one side of the table and Rhianna (the only girl) waved at both of them. “And… who are you again?”

The boy in question, looking even younger than Charlie Soot, didn’t even glance up at them. “I’m Rowan,” he declared, intently focused on a book clutched in his hands.

Charlie turned to his new friend. “We’re missing a few tonight - there are fifteen of us in total,” Charlie hesitated. “Well, neither David nor Wilbur live here anymore, so I guess there are actually thirteen,” he scratched the back of his head.

“David’s off becoming a _knight_ in the capital,” Jack put in, elbowing the Blackthorn in the side. He then called David a few names that Charlie would’ve surely been punished for repeating around _his_ family.

“He’s our oldest brother,” Charlie explained. “He-” the Soot boy was interrupted as a cry went up around the inn.

“Blackthorn!”

Charlie turned on his heel, his back to the group of Soot siblings. “What-” he started to ask before the other Charlie grabbed him by the arm.

“Hide!” Charlie exclaimed, trying to drag him towards the front desk.

“No!” _It must be Pyro - I have to get to him!_ His mind shied away from the possibility that it was his brothers, coming to kill him. “Let go of me, Charlie, just trust me, please!” Charlie tugged his arm from the other’s grip and started to push his way through the crowd, feeling as if the number of people in the room had doubled since he had entered.

As Charlie happened upon his cousin, a brave soul charged Pyro as well, a chair held over his head like a weapon. Charlie knew Pyro was going to fight, to injure and most likely kill this man in self-defence, and he couldn’t let this happen. An innocent man would not die if Charlie could do anything about it. And he could.

“Stop!”

There was a yelp as a beastly mass of green slime erupted into a hulking form between Pyro and his assailant. The creature had two stocky legs, two arms with three-fingered hands, and a face with a gaping mouth and two holes where eyes should have been.

_Beast! Stop them!_ Charlie directed silently, and the slime creature’s hands closed around Pyro’s attacker.

“Charlie?” Pyro had been knocked to the ground by Beast’s appearance and now gaped at his cousin. “Did you-”

“Don’t hurt him,” Charlie told Beast as he went by, extending a hand to Pyro to help him up. Charlie knew that Beast wasn’t intending to, as Beast was the most mild-mannered of his slimes. But he was terrifying to look at, and the rest of the room didn’t know that he was harmless.

Pyro took Charlie’s hand and got up, dusting off his knees. “This… may have been a bad idea,” Pyro admitted, looking around at the angry and scared faces.

“Charlie?” Charlie Soot had pushed his way through the crowd as well and was standing at the edge of the congregation. “Charlie, do you know this guy?”

“He- he’s my cousin,” Charlie admitted, to gasps of shock from the audience. He felt nervous speaking in front of so many people. He drew himself up and spoke with as much confidence as he could. “My name is Charlie Blackthorn. I lived with my family up until yesterday when Condifiction Blackthorn decreed as head of our family that I was useless and should leave Blackthorn Castle under threat of death,” he gestured to Pyro. “My cousin Pyro knew that this was the wrong decision but could not convince Condi to change his mind, and so decided to come with me,” he drew a deep breath. “I am no longer a Blackthorn.”

There was grumbling from the room and he could tell they didn’t believe him. This was until Charlie Soot stepped forward and declared: “Charlie hasn’t done anything wrong! If he says he’s not a Blackthorn anymore, then I believe him!”

“Charlie may be young, but he’s a good judge of character,” George put in. “If he thinks that this Blackthorn kid is a good guy, then I don’t see any reason to start getting angry with him.”

Charlie’s heart swelled as the previously disgruntled grumbling changed to sounds of agreement. Charlie Soot stepped forward and placed a hand on the other Charlie’s shoulder, acting as if he were presenting Charlie to the group.

“If you’re not a Blackthorn anymore, then what _are_ you?” one of the Soot brothers asked curiously, the one Charlie thought might have been Jack, glancing at both Charlie and Pyro.

“I don’t… we don’t… we don’t know,” Charlie answered awkwardly. “I guess we haven’t discussed it yet.” He scratched his temple.

“You could be Soots! Nobody would notice an extra two brothers,” Charlie Soot joked, causing laughter to ripple through the crowd and dispel the tension.

“We’ve already got a Charlie, though,” Jack pointed out, then punched his brother in the arm.

“Ow!” Charlie hit Jack back, and before the other Charlie could blink the two brothers were practically wrestling in the middle of the room.

“They’re always like this,” another brother, either Matt or Dan, sauntered up beside Charlie and tsked quietly. “Ah, brothers…” he shook his head.

“Can you let me down?” the man clutched in Beast’s grasp called down to Charlie, who started out of surprise.

“Oh, yeah! Beast, put him down please,” Charlie directed, and the hulking slime monster gently placed the man back on the ground and patted him on the head reassuringly.

“Hey, can you use that thing to separate them?” Matt-or-Dan gestured to Beast and then the fighting Soot brothers.

“Mhm,” Charlie shrugged. “Beast, stop Jack and Charlie from fighting, please.” Charlie watched as the slime stomped over to the Soot brothers and picked one up in each hand, holding them a foot apart. It grunted something incoherent to both the brothers and Charlie, but they seemed to get the idea.

“Is it actually called Beast?” Pyro asked, watching the slime walk back to them.

“Yep,” Charlie replied with a shrug. “He’s a sweetheart.” He reached out and patted the slime on the arm, the cold, gooey feel not fazing him.

“Are you two going to stay?” Charlie Soot asked, staggering over to them and wiping a dribble of blood from the side of his mouth.

Charlie glanced at Pyro. “I think so,” he replied, then gestured to the blood. “Are you okay?”

“Oh yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” the Soot boy shrugged. “Care for a game of poker?”

“I’ve never played poker,” Charlie admitted sheepishly. Beast started to disintegrate, melting back into nothingness.

“I can show you,” one of the other Soots offered, but Charlie couldn’t remember his name. He thought it was Rowan. Or maybe it was George? They all looked too similar.

“Uh… sure, then, I guess,” a smile tugged at the edge of Charlie’s lips. “Coming, Pyro?” he turned back to his cousin as he started to follow the Soot siblings back to the card table.

“Since were you so bossy?” Pyro replied, slightly salty but with a joking expression. “I’m coming and I’m going to beat _all_ of you at this card game.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Jack shot back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What was that? Stop filling each chapter with a crap ton of exposition and lore? Sorry, I can't hear you!  
> I am going to slow it down a bit, but... Cyrus... my boy... I love him...  
> Cyrus is my favourite character. I also really like two characters that show up next chapter :eyes:  
> Oh also yet another random shoutout for my Tumblr blog for this AU!! @cyrus-crow, go follow it if you want to ask me questions or watch me post random stuff about this story!


	8. Liar, Liar

“Sir Alexander,” the knight half-bowed to his commander, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “I’m going off-duty for the night.” A cold wind rustled his cape, a deep burnt orange colour that marked him as a member of the Crownguard.

“Keep a watchful eye out, Sir Travis,” Alexander replied, brushing a reddish-brown lock from his face as the rain started to whip up again. “We are not well-liked in this city anymore.”

“I will, sir,” Travis took a step back, glad for his helmet as a protection against the elements, but hesitated as the sound of an arrow infringed on his awareness. “Did you hear that, sir?”

Alexander drew his sword, the silver blade gleaming sharply in the half-moonlight. “I did,” he answered solemnly, and charged into the castle, Travis close on his heels.

They found the arrow just inside the castle, fired precisely through a cracked window and embedded in the castle wall. Its make looked to be Cyrian in origin and there was a note tied to it with a piece of twine. Alexander snatched it from the wall and read the parchment, his eyes widening.

“What does it say, Sir Alexander?” Travis asked, his voice quiet with uncertainty.

Alexander finished reading and looked up. “We are in grave danger, Sir Travis,” the commander of the Crownguard replied, serious and cold. “We, the king and vice, and all of Cypress. King Nathan’s lost heir is coming for his throne.”

* * *

“We should leave, Charlie,” Pyro sat on his bed in their shared room at the inn, his feet just barely brushing the floor. Pyro had had the foresight to bring money and quite a lot of it - after all, the Blackthorns were the richest family in Cypress, aside from the Royal family which didn’t quite count because it kept changing lineage.

“Leave?” Charlie was lying on his bed, arms folded behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling. “Why? We’ve found a small town with nice people, and if Condi comes looking for us I’m pretty sure they’d stone him. Plus, they’re not scared of my magic, so that’s nice.”

“Frankly, your magic isn’t very scary, Charlie,” Pyro replied, studying his fingernails. “Aside from Beast, I guess, but it wouldn’t hurt a fly.” He glanced over at the window, where the rain had finally let up for the time being. Pyro looked back at Charlie, continuing, “We can’t stay here. We’re putting them all in danger. You understand that, right?”

“We’ll be putting people in danger no matter where we go, then,” Charlie huffed. “The Soots have been really nice to us, Pyro; we can’t guarantee we’ll get that reception if we go anywhere else. Plus, Charlie’s begged me to show him more magic…”

Pyro glared at him. “There’s one place we could go where our family wouldn’t dare follow us,” he said as if it were obvious. “The capital. Condi would be arrested the moment he set foot in Irys.” All of the Named Blackthorns (except for Charlie and Pyro) had a reputation and were on a blacklist of wanted persons - any of them going to Irys would be like putting on a bright pink tutu and yelling ‘I’m here, come put me in maximum-security prison for the rest of my life!’ at the top of their lungs.

“I don’t really want to live in the capital, Pyro,” Charlie objected, looking over at his cousin. “I’m… I’m happy here. I’ve read books that talked about the capital and it’s not _good._ Irys has the densest population out of all the cities in Cypress, along with the highest crime rate.” He rattled off facts like a book that had learned how to speak - with no close family members except his older cousin, he’d spent a lot of time in the Blackthorn library.

“We’re too close to ho- Blackthorn Castle,” Pyro got up and started pacing, wringing his hands together nervously. “Condi’s going to find you, Charlie, and he’ll kill you if he finds you.” He ruffled his blond hair with one hand, letting it fall into an unkempt wave beside his eyes. It was weird, seeing Pyro riled up like this - Charlie had only ever seen him dressed perfectly and pristinely, everything arranged neatly to create Pyrocynical, the inventor. “He’ll kill anybody that tries to protect you, as well.”

Charlie sighed, rolling over onto his side to look directly at his cousin. “He said I should make a new life for myself and that’s what I’m doing,” he replied sharply. “I like it here. End of story.” The chirping of birds outside their window only rejuvenated Charlie’s determination to stay.

Pyro pinched his nose. “Do you honestly believe that our family would just _let us go?_ ” he spun on his heel to peer down at Charlie. “Don’t you remember what happened to Ayla? Granted, they stole one of our treasured relics, but still - they were banished and then tracked down and killed within a _week.”_

“So they _are_ dead, then?” Charlie shot back. “Our family was pretty iffy on the details; or maybe that was just to _me, golden boy!”_ Charlie leapt from his bed and spat the last two words directly into Pyro’s face, fuming angrily.

“Don’t you _dare-_ ” Pyro was interrupted by a loud honk, to which both of them looked down. Pyro’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What-” another honk sounded from the white, goose-shaped slime standing at his feet.

“Goose!” Charlie leaned down and picked up the goose-shaped slime, holding it in his arms. It flapped and honked disgruntledly, whacking Charlie in the face with one wing and making him flinch away. “Goose, calm down!” he ran his fingers down the slime’s back, trying to make it relax. Goose stopped flapping but continued to honk at Pyro.

“That’s… a goose…” Pyro gaped slightly at the white slime. “You have a slime that looks like a _goose?”_ Pyro flinched back as Goose attempted to bite him.

“He’s also named Goose,” Charlie explained, scratching the goose’s neck. “Sorry, Pyro, I really didn’t mean for him to show up, he just does this when I’m angry…”

“I’m surprised I’ve never seen a goose following around Condi before,” Pyro laughed, stepping back to lean against the wall. “It’s kind of cute.”

Goose didn’t seem to agree, honking furiously in Pyro’s direction.

“Goose! Calm down or go away, please,” Charlie exclaimed exasperatedly, and Goose seemed to catch on. He stopped honking, but continued to glare at Pyro with a fury Charlie didn’t think was possible for a slime. Or a goose, for that matter.

Pyro started to laugh. “Clearly Condi had never seen Goose, or else he would’ve never thought you weren’t dangerous,” Pyro reached towards Goose to try to pet him, but the slime just snapped at him. “Absolutely fearsome. I’m so scared.”

“Shut up!” but Charlie wasn’t angry anymore, a smile splitting his face. “Goose is plenty dangerous, just let him bite you and you’ll see.” Reassured that Goose wasn’t going to attack Pyro, he placed the white slime back on the ground and patted him on the head.

Goose honked and promptly disappeared.

“Do you want to get a drink?” Pyro gestured vaguely towards the door. “You can catch up with Other Charlie.”

“Please don’t start calling him Other Charlie,” Charlie sighed, holding back a laugh. “He thinks we’re weird enough, alright?”

“You’re not the boss of me!” Pyro exclaimed.

* * *

“How long are you planning to stay?” Jack asked pleasantly, flicking the edge of his cards absentmindedly as he waited for George to play. Charlie was pretty sure he had their names down, at least the ones he was currently playing with. Jack, George, and Matt.

Charlie hesitated, without a good answer. He could see Pyro chatting with Rhianna at the bar out of the corner of his eye, just out of earshot. “I don’t know,” he admitted sheepishly, glancing down at his cards with a thoughtful frown.

George finished his turn and passed it along to Jack, who tossed a card down quickly. Charlie had to think for a few moments, deciding between two cards, before slapping it down.

“I won’t object if you guys choose to stay,” Jack commented, turning back to Charlie. “Just tell whatever his name is,” he jerked his thumb at Pyro, “to stay away from my sister.”

Charlie was so startled that he laughed. “I don’t think he’s doing any harm,” he replied, looking over at Rhianna and Pyro. They seemed to be laughing about something. “Pyro’s a great guy, I promise.”

“He’s a _Blackthorn,_ ” George pointed out, tearing his gaze away from Matt, who was currently deciding on a card. “No offence, Charlie, but we trust you a heck of a lot more than we trust him. We know what you can do and it’s pretty harmless. Pyro… well, his name’s _Pyro._ You can imagine that we have concerns.”

Charlie didn’t respond, pretending to be studying his cards as Matt passed his turn onto George. _They’re right,_ he realized. _Pyro didn’t want_ out _, he just wanted to wreak havoc without the constraints our family puts on us. By staying here, I’m not just putting them in danger from Condi… I’m putting them in danger from Pyro, too._

“Charlie?” Jack waved a hand in front of his face, causing Charlie to snap back into the present. “You in Cypress, buddy?”

“What? Yeah, I’m here,” Charlie shook his head gently. “Just thinking about something,” he explained vaguely. Pyro may have not done anything yet… but that didn’t mean he wasn’t planning to leave chaos in his wake.

* * *

Pyrocynical left the inn silently, sliding out the side door and into the alley. He’d stolen a pin from Matt, George, and Dan’s room and it was now sitting on his left shoulder, holding his jet-black cloak in place. _Let Charlie have his fun,_ he thought somberly. _We’re not good guys, even if he wants to pretend we are._

The night was clear, the moon half-full and shining brightly onto the town of Eagle’s Burrow. Lanterns hung, lit, at every door, making strange shadows dance across the main dirt road. It was far too bright for Pyro’s liking, but he went along anyway, sweeping down the path towards the tavern on the other side of the town.

Pyro had barely raised his hand to knock on the door before it was yanked open from the inside. A young woman, scantily dressed, placed her hands on her hips and stared Pyro down with a wave of fierce anger. “What do you want?” she demanded, her words slurring together into a sort of ‘whaddya want?’

“I’m here to see Noah,” when recognition didn’t flash in her gaze, he elaborated, “Noah Greypoint.”

“What do you want with Greypoint?” she retorted, hand twitching towards a knife roughly tucked into her belt. Pyro tried to look past her into the tavern, but she simply closed the door more and blocked the remaining space with her body.

“Blackthorn business,” Pyro answered shortly.

She set her jaw. “Fine. Come inside,” the woman opened the door, just enough for Pyro to slip into the tavern.

  
It was quiet, with only a couple of people milling around. This was just a temporary front, Pyro knew; the White Rose didn’t often stay in one place for long. The Soot brothers had informed him that this building had been empty until a week ago when a woman (the one he had met at the door, Pyro assumed) showed up and bought the place.

“Greypoint’s over there,” she gestured to the end of the bar, where a man with a cloak of dark green sat drinking from a mug. The hood of his cloak was down, revealing a tired-looking man with ruffled brown hair and a very short-cropped beard. He glanced up at the sound of his name but barely acknowledged Pyro’s presence. “Dunno what you’ll be able to get out of him. He’s been in the dumps since the fight with his brother. Only reason he agreed to come here was because of the beer.”

“His brother?” Pyro turned sharply. “I didn’t know he had a brother.”

“Neither did I, until he turned up at one of our fronts in Irys about a week ago and argued with Greypoint for a few hours,” the barmaid huffed. “He tried to hide it, but he was distinctly an orange-cloak. Had the air of one, at least.” Orange-cloak was a term most used to describe the Crownguard. Pyro had never really used it because the Blackthorn family valued ‘proper speaking’, but it was both a shorter and more fitting term for the elite knights. “I’ll buy you a drink if you can get him to work.”

Pyro chuckled. “I’ll try. Thanks, Miss…” he paused, waiting for her to provide her name.

She smirked. “They call me Ruby,” she hit him in the arm, not hard enough to hurt, and muttered, “Good luck.”

Pyro watched her walk behind the bar into the kitchen, knowing she would be listening to everything he said. After a moment or two, he strode over to the bar and took the stool next to Noah.

“I’m not doing business right now,” Noah muttered sourly, taking another drink from his mug. “Go eat a rat, Blackthorn.” There was anger in Noah’s eyes, and after just a brief second Pyro realized that it was personal. This man _hated_ Pyro’s family. _Perhaps I can use that to my advantage…_

“You don’t want my money, then?” Pyro replied, leaning back and letting the coins jangle against his side. “As much as you’d like… the Blackthorn vaults are chock full of gold that could be yours if you do this job for me.”

Noah hesitated. “I’ll consider it,” he grunted. “I suppose I could use something to distract me. What’s the job, Blackthorn?” Noah scratched his beard absentmindedly before draining the rest of his beer.

“I want you to agree first,” Pyro shot back, narrowing his eyes. “This job is incredibly important and top-secret.”

Noah didn’t back down, meeting Pyro’s gaze with cold fire. “No. That’s not how I work, _weasel._ Tell me what the job is,” he slammed his mug down on the counter with a loud bang.

Pyro sighed. “Fine,” he grumbled. 

Noah raised an eyebrow, guarded curiosity sparking in his gaze.

“I want you to kill Charlie Blackthorn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All questions will be answered in future chapters, I promise!  
> Poor Charlie...  
> ALSO SIR ALEXANDER AND SIR TRAVIS I LOVE BOTH OF THEM THEY'RE TWO OF MY FAVOURITE CHARACTERS AAAAAA


	9. The King is a Cool Dude, I Guess

Charlie was wakened by quick, urgent knocks on the door of his and Pyro’s room. He grumbled something unintelligible and yawned, rolling over to look out at his surroundings.

The first thing he noticed was that the sun wasn’t up yet, the sky still as black as tar. The second thing he noticed was that Pyro wasn’t there and none of his things was, either.

Charlie got up quickly, pulling on his boots and stumbling over to the door. He yanked it open to see Charlie Soot, whose eyes immediately lit up.

“Charlie!” the Soot boy exclaimed. “Pyro’s gone- he just- you gotta come, you have to go after him!” Charlie seemed out of breath, his hands fidgeting nervously.

“What? Explain everything from the beginning,” Charlie demanded, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Pyro’s  _ gone? _ ”

“Took his horse and left,” Charlie Soot nodded. “I was doing night watch and I heard- went outside and he was barrelling out of town like a man on the run.” He heaved another deep breath. “I think you have- go after him.”

“I will,” Charlie promised, grabbing his jacket and scarf from his bedpost and throwing them both on. “Tell the others where I’ve gone,” he directed, then leapt down the stairs as fast as he could.

Charlie raced out to the front of the inn, looking for any trace of which direction Pyro had gone. After he managed to calm down slightly, he noticed recent hoofprints in the mud, still wet from yesterday’s rain. 

A loud neigh rang from beside him and Charlie gave a start, surprised by the sudden appearance of another of his slimes. He hadn’t even done anything, except perhaps thought briefly about needing a horse.

“Lion!” Charlie cried happily, letting the orange horse-slime bop him in the forehead with his snout. “We have to follow Pyro, buddy,” he told the slime, clambering up onto his back. It took a minute, with Charlie lacking much horse-riding experience, but eventually he seated himself on Lion’s back. “As fast as you can-”

He had barely finished his sentence when Lion took off, charging down the lane towards the forest. Charlie held onto Lion’s shoulders, the slightly sticky slime allowing for him to stay on much more easily.

As they left town, Charlie suddenly wondered if he’d ever make it back.

* * *

The gates of Irys loomed in front of the party; three horses and three men (two men and one goat, if you wanted to get technical) waiting patiently to be let inside by King Jordan’s men. Wilbur and Milo were content just standing around, humming some old songs, but Schlatt and Stal were both distinctly annoyed.

“We’ve been standing here for ages,” Stal grumbled, tossing his ebony mane. “Let us inside, yellowcloaks!” The black stallion stomped his front hooves, glaring sourly up at the yellow-cloaked Cityguard manning the gates.

“They can’t let us inside until a member of the Crownguard approves it,” Milo flicked his tail gently, turning to look at Stal, “and we’ve only been here a few minutes.” Milo’s attitude towards most things was the same - calm and gentle. As Ted had put it earlier, he wouldn’t have lasted five seconds during the war, to which Milo had agreed.

Carson yawned, stretching his arms up as something cracked in his shoulders. “Last time the capital was like this was during the Iceblood epidemic,” he commented. “That was about the time Schlatt and I met and it didn’t last very long, thank the gods.”

Wilbur shivered. “Nobody in Eagle’s Burrow caught the plague,” he murmured. Wilbur felt cold just thinking about it - a mysterious illness that had swept up from the freezing wastelands of the Frozen Expanse, quick and deadly, quite literally turning one’s blood into ice before freezing the entire body into a sort of ice statue. Because of its quick effects, however, it didn’t get the chance to spread very far and was quarantined out of existence in Cypress. There was the occasional case in adventurers that journeyed into the Frozen Expanse, but they always died before returning to the kingdom.

“Not the worst plague to hit Cypress, but certainly the most recent,” Carson mused. “King Nathan really improved the quality of life here for a while but it plummeted during the war.” Carson spurred Ted around, pacing in front of the gates.

“We never had epidemics in Hell,” Schlatt was oblivious to Stal’s disgruntled attitude. “Demons aren’t susceptible to that sort of thing.” The goat demon had donned his hood for the city, the dark cloth shading his face so that his features were unreadable.

“Sir Carson King!” a voice called down from behind the parapet of the gates. Wilbur looked up to see a knight in an orange cloak removing his helmet, but it was hard to make out his features from the ground. “Let them in,” the knight directed the Cityguard.

As the portcullis raised, Carson turned to his companions and said, “Here we go,” with a grin.

The knight met them on the other side, his helmet clutched at his side. He had curly brown hair and quickly mounted a chocolate brown mare. He secured his helmet to his horse’s saddlebags and spurred her on to ride beside them. “I’ve been sent to escort you and your companions to King Jordan’s castle,” he said, glancing over Schlatt and Wilbur. “I’m Sir Travis, one of the Crownguard.”

“You already know who I am,” Carson smiled. He gestured to Wilbur, then Schlatt. “This is Wilbur Soot and Schlatt.”

“Nice to meet you,” Travis nodded to Wilbur, who nodded back. “You’re here about the attempt on King Jordan’s life, correct?” Wilbur noticed that Travis seemed mildly on-edge, his fingers constantly twitching towards the sword on his waist.

“That’s right,” Carson replied. “We came as fast as we could.”

“I was just coming off duty when the attack happened,” Travis told them. “Sir Alexander and I found a note, which we figured out later was supposed to delay us. Luckily, Vice Taylor was with King Jordan and helped him fight off the assassin.”

_ Oh, _ Wilbur thought,  _ so that’s why he’s nervous. _ Wilbur wished he could reassure the young knight that everything would be alright, but Wilbur wasn’t even sure if he could say that anymore and know that it was true.

“Why does King Jordan need  _ us? _ ” Schlatt asked suddenly. “He has the Crownguard, after all.” Wilbur could see a flicker of Schlatt’s eyes underneath his hood and suspected that the goat demon was a little annoyed.

“We’re easily recognizable, even if we try to hide,” Sir Travis replied. “I don’t know exactly what King Jordan has planned to catch his attempted killer, but he needs skilled fighters that aren’t as well-known. Nobody would be expecting you two- three,” he corrected, glancing at Wilbur. “After all, you did stop questing for a while. No offence, Sir Carson.”

“None taken,” Carson remarked. “It’s been a while since I’ve been here… it doesn’t seem to have changed much,” he looked around at the buildings hemming the main road, many of them abuzz with Cyrians shopping and selling.

“I don’t usually spend much time this far from the castle,” Travis admitted. “Though, just a fortnight ago I travelled outside of Irys to go visit some family…” the knight scratched his head with his free hand. “It didn’t really go very well, to be honest.”

“What happened?” Wilbur asked, leaning forward on his horse. He’d never met a member of the Crownguard before, so he was practically hanging onto Travis’ every word.

“I got into a fight with my brother,” Travis smiled halfheartedly. “He… doesn’t approve of my career path.” Travis snorted. “You’d think that was funny if you’d met my brother.”

“Why, what does he do?” Wilbur asked, but he was interrupted by a commotion on a nearby sidestreet. The four all pulled their horses to a stop, watching as a group of citizens marched down the lane towards the main road, signs hoisted over their heads. Wilbur didn’t get to see much before Travis urged them onwards, but he distinctly caught the writing on one of them.

Wilbur couldn’t shake it from his mind as they continued down the main road, the words flooding back during every break in the conversation.

_ The revolution is coming... _

* * *

Wilbur gaped in awe at the huge stone walls of the castle as they drew closer, Travis leading the party of three. The drawbridge was crossed easily and with a wave from Travis the castle gates opened and invited Carson and his companions inside.

There were stables just inside the gates where they left Ted, Milo, and Stal. Ted seemed indignant about this, declaring that he should be allowed in as well, but Wilbur quietly reminded him that he was a horse, not a human.

Travis escorted them into the castle and down too many corridors for Wilbur to count, climbing up all the while. There seemed to be a staircase around every corner, and Wilbur was not reassured that he would be able to find his way back out if he needed to. The entire castle was decorated in shades of red, orange, and yellow, and Wilbur wondered whether the cloaks of the Cityguard, Crownguard, and the king and vice had been chosen based on the castle’s decor, or whether the decor had been chosen based on the cloak colours.

Finally, Travis stopped in front of a huge set of double doors wrought of mahogany wood, inlaid with gold and copper to create the form of a tree on fire. It was one of the most beautiful things Wilbur had ever seen; though he hadn’t seen much in the tiny town of Eagle’s Burrow. Two guards in orange cloaks flanked the door, holding spears that crossed to block their passage.

“King Jordan, Vice Taylor, and Sir Alexander are waiting inside,” Travis explained. “Let them pass, Sir Joshua.” Travis nodded to one of the guards blocking the doors and both promptly pulled back their spears and stepped to the centre to open the doors for Carson, Wilbur, and Schlatt.

As they stepped inside, Wilbur had to take a moment to process the throne room’s interior. The floor and walls were made of cobblestone, but great beams of naturally or stained red wood stood between the windows and crossed underneath the high, arched ceiling. There were no artificial light sources in the room, just huge stained glass windows depicting scenes in Cypress’ history along both side walls. At the far end of the throne room was a raised dais on which sat a large, elegantly-carved mahogany throne. A long red carpet flowed from where Wilbur was standing all the way up onto the dais and to the foot of the throne. On the far wall behind the throne was a huge tapestry of the flaming tree Wilbur had seen on the throne room doors, flanked by two banners depicting sunset in red, yellow, and orange.

He was so stunned by the scene before him that he barely noticed the man on the throne, nor the two men standing on either side. Carson and Schlatt strode forwards towards the other end and Wilbur rushed to catch up with them, walking on Carson’s left side.

“Your Majesty,” Sir Carson dropped to one knee in respect and Schlatt did the same. After a brief moment’s hesitation, Wilbur followed suit.

King Jordan was clad in a tight white-and-red tunic, black pants, and a red coat with golden lace and buttons. He looked surprisingly casual, his legs crossed haphazardly and the simple gold crown slightly askew atop his head. Vice Taylor Antvenom was to Wilbur’s left, the king’s right, dressed completely in black except for the trim, which was stitched in red. He was leaning slightly on a black cane with a silver handle. Sir Alexander was on the other side and easily identifiable by his orange cloak. He was in a full suit of iron armour, the only thing lacking being the helmet, which he was holding under his arm. Somebody must have polished his armour recently, because it shone with a fierce reflective glow.

“Oh, get up,” King Jordan sounded exhausted when he spoke and Wilbur quickly noticed dark shadows under his eyes. “We don’t have time for formalities.”

Carson and Schlatt got to their feet, but Wilbur remained for a second more, unsure of himself. The king shot him an amused look as he clambered to his feet, and Wilbur felt a rush of embarrassment.

“Your group has grown since the last time I saw you, Sir Carson,” King Jordan let a smile play across his face. “Who’s this young man?” he gestured to Wilbur.

“I’m Wilbur Soot, Your Majesty,” said Wilbur, when Carson gestured for him to speak. “I-I’m a bard,” his fingers tightened around the strap holding his lute to his back. His thoughts suddenly flashed back to George. Would he notice that the lute was missing?

“Any friend of Sir Carson’s is a friend of mine,” King Jordan replied, and Wilbur thought that he might faint. There was a brief break in the conversation before the king went on, “We’d better get down to business, then. Taylor?” he turned his attention and by extension, the eyes of the room, to Vice Taylor.

Vice Taylor stepped forward and cleared his throat. “You’ve already heard that there was an attempt on King Jordan’s life nights ago,” the vice glanced back at the king. “We have a plan to catch the attacker, but it won’t work without outside help.”

“We know that much,” Schlatt interrupted. Wilbur shot him a nervous glance. “What’s the plan?” the goat demon demanded.

“A jousting tournament,” a wave of confusion rippled through the three heroes. “It will serve two purposes; to restore calm in Irys and the rest of the kingdom, and to draw the assassin out of hiding,” Vice Taylor shifted his weight on his cane. “It would be the perfect opportunity to strike, and that is why we will host one. We need competitors in the competition that can snoop around without being suspected and try to sniff out the assassin or any information about them.”

“That might actually work,” Schlatt commented, looking over at Carson and Wilbur. “Nobody would know that we’re snooping for the Crown, just that we’re here to compete.”

“I haven’t jousted in a long time,” Carson placed his hands on his hips, “but I agree, it could definitely work. We’ll just have to be careful - trying to draw the assassin out of hiding also comes with an element of risk… for you, Your Majesty,” he nodded to the king.

“I know,” King Jordan replied somberly. “I’m prepared for that risk. I trained as a knight, don’t you forget, and lead the charge against the Windwings when Sir Theodore was captured,” in a momentary flicker of emotion, he turned to Sir Alexander. “You knew him. Ted - he was captain of the Crownguard before you.”

Wilbur reeled for a second.  _ Ted? _ He shook his head gently, chasing away connections that didn’t make sense.  _ The Ted I know is a  _ horse. _ It’s a common name. Maybe Ted was even named after this Sir Theodore guy. _ Wilbur stirred from his thoughts and tuned back into the conversation.

“He was killed by the Windwings, wasn’t he?” Carson put in, one eyebrow raising slightly.

“We… we don’t know what happened to him,” King Jordan admitted. “We think he was killed, but he might still be rotting in a Windwing dungeon somewhere. Queen Julia said she didn’t keep a record of all the prisoners she took, so she’s been strikingly unhelpful.”

“What a surprise,” Schlatt muttered. “Windwings, being unhelpful and stubborn. Who would have thought?” Vice Taylor laughed at that.

King Jordan waved a hand dismissively. “The fate of Sir Theodore is not the point of this conversation,” he said. “Will you take the job, Sir Carson?” the king leaned forward on his throne. “You will be amply rewarded.”

Carson turned to Schlatt, who nodded solemnly. He then looked to Wilbur, who also nodded quickly. Then Carson raised his head to gaze at King Jordan and answered, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, King Jordan and Vice Taylor get some time on the screen! Also, we're back on the trail of these mystery assassins, whoever they are... and more lore! *Gasp* Sir Theodore?? Is he alive? Nobody knows...  
> Let's hope Charlie can find Pyro before anything bad happens!!  
> Tbh, out of all these winding stories, my favourite is Sir Cyrus and Sir Peter's plotline! Which of the many storylines is your favourite? Tell me in the comments!


	10. Cooper & The Misfits Join the Party

_Blood pounded in Cooper’s ears and his world faded in and out from black as he was knocked into the rocks. His parents were still fighting… he had to get to them, had to help the other Swordfins. Cooper scrambled to get his hold in the water, searching for a current that would help him get back to the battle. His head was still swimming with the stars as he used his tail to propel himself upwards. The spear… he had been holding a spear, using it to fight off the hoard of chuul (lobster-like creatures with octopus tentacles for mouths) threatening his people. A few blinks to clear his vision and he spotted it, laying between the rocks. Cooper reached down and picked it up, the solid, heavy horn feeling awkward in his hands._

_A cry of pain and desperation rang out across the telepathic wavelength of the warriors, causing Cooper to spin and twist in the water and try to spot the source of the anguish._ There! _On the other side of the reef, a trio of chuul had two merfolk cornered, one with scales the same green as Cooper’s, the other with scales the colour of sapphires. Their green bracelets identified them both as what humans referred to as ‘male’._

I’m coming! _Cooper yelped, tightening his grip on the spear and kicking out with his legs and tail. He shot through the water, but another creature loomed out of the water and distracted him. Still off-balance from his impact with the rocks, it took him longer than he would have liked to drive the spear into the exposed ‘face’ of the chuul attacking him._

_He had to reorient himself again and when he found the faces of his parents in the water, both were streaked with blood. Cooper let out a scream-_

Cooper flew awake, whacking his head on the inside of his sleeping chamber. _Whose idea was it to have royalty sleep in clamshells?_ He thought bitterly, rubbing the sore spot on his head before slowly lifting the shell. It was different across the Ocean Kingdoms, but the general idea was the same - the easiest way to sleep without floating away is to sleep inside something.

_That nightmare again?_ Cooper couldn’t see anybody in his room, so whoever it was must have tuned in from nearby. He closed his eyes and spread his awareness, quickly discovering-

_Lydia,_ he replied, _stop eavesdropping on my dreams!_ Cooper couldn’t look at the spear mounted on his wall without feeling sick, swimming over to the balcony in his room of the palace. He was only _technically_ royalty since his grandfather was the current High Counsellor of the Great Ocean Council. Still, it felt good.

_I wasn’t eavesdropping,_ he could imagine the coral-pink merfolk making an indignant face on the other end of their telepathic connection. _Scarlet mentioned it to me and I felt you waking up._

_Well, tell Scarlet to keep their mouth shut,_ Lydia’s sibling Scarlet supposedly knew everything that happened in the Ocean Kingdoms, but how they’d found out about this he didn’t know. Perhaps they’d spied on his meetings with his grandfather. If so, they could be fired for that. _I’m going out, goodbye._

_Bye._ Cooper felt their connection break as he swam away, over the balcony and out into the castle’s courtyard. Lydia and Scarlet both worked in the palace; Lydia must have been cleaning the halls or something, he supposed. Cooper didn’t particularly care.

It was early morning by Cooper’s internal clock, and he bet if he swam to the surface the sun would be rising. He looked up. It wasn’t _that_ far, but he’d only been to the surface once. His grandfather had thought it might be good for him. It _had_ helped, but only temporarily, and he’d been barred from going back because it was ‘too dangerous’. _Why it wasn’t dangerous the first time, I don’t know._

Nobody stopped him as he left the palace, swimming to the edge of the cliff that it had been built on centuries ago. There was a whole city built into the side of the cliff, the high city of the merfolk. Cooper had lived here all his life. But he’d always felt trapped, surrounded by memories that did nothing to ease the pain of losing his parents.

Setting his jaw, Cooper pushed off of the cliff and shot towards the surface of the waves. He wanted to see the sun and the clouds, even if only for a brief second. He didn’t care if he was caught and punished. He knew his grandfather would never allow him to heal fully, so if catching a glimpse of the sun would help him temporarily, he would risk it. His grandfather knew the cure but pretended like it wasn’t real. 

The only way Cooper would be able to free himself from his nightmares… would be to leave the Ocean Kingdoms.

* * *

Pyro was running away.

Running away from Charlie, running away from Condifiction and Grizzly, running away from his parents and aunts and uncles, running away from all his problems. If Condi found out what he’d done, he’d have Pyro’s head as well as Charlie’s, and Pyro couldn’t let that happen.

Noah could take care of it. He hoped. He used to be in the army, so there must be at least a shred of honour left in his soul. He was still getting paid. Would it be enough?

Pyro couldn’t tell which was louder: the thundering of his horse’s hooves or the pounding of his heart. He could be dead by dawn if anything, _anything_ went wrong. He’d been so careful… if Condi figured out he’d been duped and that Noah was under different orders, a lot of people could lose their lives today. Nobody wanted to be on the other end of Condi’s anger, least of all Pyro.

Dark. Pyro could barely see his hands in front of his face. He didn’t want to risk it, but he’d already risked so much. To hit a tree now would be suicide.

Pyro lifted a hand and let flames burst to life on his fist, just enough to cast a dim glow on the forest around him as he and his horse hurtled through the trees. His horse was spurred on by the sudden light, leaping over a fallen log that she could now see and landing neatly on the other side.

Charlie would be following him, and with luck, Pyro could lead him to the capital. Without it… well, that was why he had Noah as a backup plan.

Pyro was so concentrated that he didn’t anticipate the crossbow bolt piercing his horse’s heart, didn’t anticipate the scream of a dying animal, didn’t anticipate her legs buckling and sending him sprawling to the ground. He diverted his focus to keep the fire going, needing light more than ever. His expensive garments were now soaked in mud, and somewhere in the shock, a numbed thought of _those are going to be a jerk to replace_ managed to break through. He threw off his cloak as he scrambled to his feet, ready for a fight.

“Who’s there?” Pyro raised his fist over his head, casting the firelight wider. He couldn’t see anything in the shadows, but his mind immediately switched into overdrive. _Condi’s found me, he must have read the note I gave Noah, I’m going to die,_ his brain whispered hurriedly. “Show yourself!”

But the figure that stepped out from behind the trees wasn’t Condi at all, nor any Blackthorn he knew. It was a knight, armoured in chainmail and shadowed by a dark cloak. Their face was covered by a helmet in either iron or steel, with small, dark eyeslits and a flat top. It wasn’t common Cyrian style, but Pyro vaguely remembered armour like this from books he’d read on old war strategy. Clutched in their hands were a sword and a shield in solid black, though it looked like somebody had tried to carve something into it.

The knight said nothing but raised their shield, waiting for Pyro to make a move. Pyro didn’t hesitate, spinning a knife out of thin air and hurtling the white-hot blade at the knight’s face. They dropped to the ground, letting the knife sail over their head and remaining crouched there, obviously waiting for Pyro’s next attack.

“That’s right, I’m armed,” Pyro couldn’t help but try some banter. He wanted to know who this guy was and why they were trying to kill him. “Want to keep trying to kill me?” he taunted, summoning another knife and spinning it between his fingers. He wasn’t a _great_ shot, but when you spun knives out of fire it didn’t matter if you hit exactly where you intended or not.

Too late, Pyro registered that this knight had no crossbow and that the most logical conclusion would be that there was more than one attacker. This revelation came only when somebody tried to jump him from behind and Pyro was taken by surprise, whirling around with his weapon at the ready. The knight then shot forward behind him and he was forced to choose who to fight - the knight or the other mystery attacker.

He chose the knight, ducking their swing and trying to get a good hit on them. But they were quick, faster than Pyro had thought they would be in all that chainmail, and Pyro found himself outmatched. The other attacker didn’t seem to be doing anything, though, just waiting on the other side of the road with a mace clutched in their hands. In the flurry of the battle, Pyro managed to notice that the other attacker was wearing a bandana dyed in yellow, red, and blue.

_Bandits!_ Pyro realized suddenly. _I’m being bested by roadside vagrants!_ This revelation pushed him onward, letting his light source fade out to be replaced with another knife. He wasn’t a fighter, but he hoped these bandits weren’t very skilled either. They usually weren’t, the few times Pyro had encountered thieves.

During his fight with the knight, Pyro quickly made the mistake of turning his back on the other bandit, absorbed in surviving the battle. Suddenly, the knight leapt back and a heavy weight socked Pyro in the back of the head. As he collapsed, blinded by pain and quickly falling into unconsciousness, he prayed desperately that Charlie would find him. 

_I don’t want to die like this._

* * *

Noah cursed under his breath. _None of this was part of the plan!_ He thought, careful to stay hidden in the branches of the tree he perched in. He’d arrived too late, only able to watch as Pyro lost his fight against the bandits. He knew three other bandits were hiding nearby, on the other side of the road, and if he were to spring out he’d be instantly outnumbered.

So he kept watching, helpless, as a tall, brown-haired rogue with an orange bandana covering his face and a shorter, red-haired bandit with a black hood loaded Pyro into the back of their wagon, whilst the knight and redhead Pyro had been fighting stood by. A fifth bandit, short with neat, almost military-cut, short brown hair emerged from the side of Noah’s vision, further down the road, the crossbow that had killed Pyro’s horse clutched in his hands. This one wore no face covering, unlike the other four, but there was a dark red scarf tied around his neck. Noah recognized this bandit as having poked around where he was hiding earlier, but he hadn’t looked up. 

“All clear, Fitz,” the red-scarved bandit declared, and the one that had knocked out Pyro turned around.

_He must be in charge,_ Noah noted. He couldn’t see very well through the leaves, but he caught the colours of the leader’s - Fitz’s - bandana. Yellow, red, and blue. _Not very stealthy._

“Good,” Fitz gingerly dropped the mace into the wagon with Pyro, looking slightly disgusted. “I hate maces. Clunky, useless things,” he muttered, before turning back to the one with the red scarf. “Keep on keeping an eye out, Mason. We don’t want the other one coming after the boy.” He jerked his thumb towards Pyro.

_They’re talking about Charlie,_ Noah realized. _They don’t know I’m part of this as well._ His mind flashed back to the note he had burned earlier in the evening; the note Pyro had left him tucked within the sachel of coins. The note that told him that his mission was far more dangerous and ethical than he had first suspected.

“Jay!” Fitz called in the direction of the two other bandits. “Get everything packed up, we’re leaving. Matt, get that horse under control.”

The redhead - Matt - jogged around to the front of the wagon and grabbed the reins of their horse, whilst Jay, the tall brunette, climbed into the back where Pyro was. The knight, still unnamed, stood by with his arms crossed.

“Fitz…” the knight started, their tone alight with warning. “He’s going to be dangerous. He’ll burn through those ropes the second he wakes up.” The knight touched the hilt of his sword with caution.

“Then we won’t wake him up, Swagger,” Fitz grinned, his bandana now loose around his neck. “I don’t think our client cares whether or not he’s a little banged up when he arrives,” he nodded to Jay. “Jay can take care of it.”

Noah had heard enough. He needed to find Charlie and tell him what had happened. And if Charlie wanted to chase down these bandits… _well, I guess I’d go with him,_ he thought begrudgingly. Slowly, Noah started to slip down from the tree, his eyes intent on watching Mason to make sure he wasn’t spotted nor heard.

He landed on the forest floor with a dull thump, but the bandits were too busy talking to hear it. Noah retreated into the woods, away from the road, before breaking into a run back in the direction of Eagle’s Burrow.

Noah caught Charlie coming along the road, leaned over his horse with steely determination. Noah didn’t have time to think, throwing himself in front of Charlie’s weird orange horse and shouting ‘stop!’ at the top of his lungs.

The horse reared up with a loud, startled whinny and Charlie was nearly thrown free. Noah instantly felt bad, but he couldn’t let Charlie walk into a gang of bandits alone and unarmed. “Charlie!” he called out. “I know where your cousin is.”

_That_ got Charlie’s attention, if Noah jumping in front of his horse hadn’t. “Pyro? He just left without saying anything, what-” Charlie started.

“No time,” Noah insisted. “Get into the trees before they hear you.” They were too close to the corner, though the road between them was long it was only because of the bend. Besides, they might come looking for Charlie or at least head back this way. It was better to be safe than sorry.

Charlie dropped from his horse’s back and Noah watched, stunned, as it melted into a pile of orange slime, then dissipated. “Who’s going to hear me?” Charlie demanded, taking an aggressive step towards Noah.

“A band of rogues,” Noah said, suddenly remembering where he’d read those names and seen those faces before. On wanted posters for- “The Misfits. The Misfits have your cousin.” Noah explained quickly.

“So? Let’s go get him back!” Charlie exclaimed, louder than Noah would have liked. “I can handle a bandit or two, I think.” Charlie wasn’t matching the description Noah had heard, but he supposed anybody was different when their cousin had just vanished.

“Can you handle five? All armed? Plus one of them in full armour?” Noah countered, pacing towards Charlie. “Your cousin is unharmed other than a bump on the head _for now._ The Misfits are in a prime position to slit his throat whenever they want to, _especially_ if you try anything stupid, Charlie!” He didn’t mention that they were planning to deliver Pyro to some sort of client, all of this information at once was bad enough.

Charlie paused. “Who are you?” he asked, eyebrows furrowing. “How do you know me and my cousin? Why are you helping me?” Charlie fidgeted with his hands absentmindedly.

“My name is Noah Greypoint,” Noah explained. _I’m helping you because I was paid to._ “I’m a… a _friend_ of Pyrocynical’s. I’m a former soldier in the Crown’s army and _for the love of all that is holy, get under the trees._ ” Noah was almost to the point of knocking _Charlie_ out and dragging him into the woods, but luckily his self-control extended further than that.

Something seemed to dawn on Charlie. “Okay,” he replied simply. “I trust you.” Charlie marched towards the trees, casting a nervous glance over his shoulder that wasn’t directed at Noah as he did so.

Once Charlie was safely in the brush, Noah let out a relieved sigh and followed. _He trusts me?_ Noah mused. _A terrible decision, really. Nobody trusts me… not even my own brother._ A small, sad smile grew on Noah’s face. He joined Charlie under the trees and leaned back against one.

“What now?” Charlie asked. “You seem to know what you’re doing, Noah.” Charlie crossed his arms and looked at Noah quizzically.

There was a moment’s pause. “We follow the Misfits,” Noah replied, steeled determination in his voice, “and we find a way to get your cousin back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel the need to mention that the only reason Toby is missing from the story right now is that I need a certain number of Misfits to make the story work later on. Nothing against Toby at all. I barely know the other Misfits so it was just kind of a lottery to which one got cut, oof. Toby will be in the story, just not as a Misfit.  
> I'm juggling so many characters, storylines, and POVs that at this point my brain feels like a conspiracy theorist's diary XD


	11. Short Interlude for Plot Reasons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> word from the future: this chapter gets retconned later on.

Cooper was summoned to the council chamber almost immediately after he returned home. Scarlet, carrying the message, looked at him pityingly. They didn’t even need to speak to understand what the other was feeling.

The council chamber was abandoned apart from one bright green merfolk, sitting in the chair of the high counsellor. He was High Counsellor Allon Pihs, former Swordfin admiral decorated by medals, unionizer of the Ocean Kingdoms, the last seer, stellar businessman, genius inventor… and Cooper’s grandfather.

Cooper Rayalt-Pihs was a stupid name, so he always dropped the Pihs. He had never wanted to be associated with his grandfather, but after his parents had died, Allon had taken him in. Cooper wanted to be out there, in the Ocean Kingdoms, but instead, he was trapped in the one place that reminded him of his fathers. The one place that gave him nightmares of their deaths.

_Grandfather,_ Cooper called out, slipping his fingers underneath the plain green bracelet on his left wrist out of anxiousness. He was in trouble, he knew he was. Cooper raised his chin fiercely. He didn’t care.

_Cooper,_ his grandfather greeted, kicking off the chair and swimming towards Cooper. They greeted each other in the customary merfolk way, grabbing left forearms to show clearly their identifying bracelets. Allon’s was also green, but it looked from a slight indent as if he’d been wearing a second bracelet recently. Cooper hadn’t noticed a red or a blue bracelet on his arm, but he didn’t exactly pay attention to his grandfather. Lydia had a blue bracelet and Scarlet had a red, Cooper remembered.

_What do you want?_ Cooper asked bluntly, releasing his grandfather’s arm. He hadn’t exactly been _careful,_ but he had been pretty sure nobody had seen him leave.

_Toby said you went to the surface today,_ Allon’s brow furrowed. _I thought I told you not to go up there again._ His grandfather’s eyes pierced him through shaded spectacles; how they weren’t floating off, Cooper had never been able to figure out. Perhaps it was magic, though who would use magic to keep their spectacles on, Cooper didn’t know.

_What’s up there that you don’t want me to see?_ Cooper demanded, kicking off of the room’s floor and letting himself float towards the ceiling absentmindedly. _Why can’t I do border patrols like everybody else?_

_Cooper, you know fully that you’re not well,_ Allon rubbed his forehead before joining Cooper near the ceiling. _I don’t want to risk you getting hurt. The surface and borders are the most dangerous places in the Merfolk Territories._

Cooper flexed his fingers. _I’m fine!_ he hissed. _I’d be better if you let me be a regular merfolk! I hate being cooped up here, and everything reminds me of my- my parents! The longer you keep me here, the more I’ll want to leave!_

_You remind me of me when I was a child,_ his grandfather mused, drifting down towards the floor. Before he could continue, Cooper interrupted again.

_I am nothing like you!_ Cooper declared viciously. _You don’t understand me! You never understood me! I hate being your grandson!_ And with that, Cooper dove towards the door and burst through it, fleeing towards the rest of the city. He could hear his grandfather calling out after him, but with ferocity, he broke their connection and disappeared over the cliff.

It took Cooper but a minute to find what he was looking for. A border patrol, getting ready to leave, just a few layers down from the top of the cliff in the barracks. He swam inside, ignoring the confused looks from the Swordfins standing by the entrance.

_Harrow!_ Cooper called out, recognizing the midnight blue merfolk. _I want to join your patrol,_ he declared, stopping a mere foot from the captain of the patrol. A glance at Harrow’s red and green bracelets reminded Cooper of their preferences.

Captain Harrow looked sceptical. _Prince Cooper, you know you’re not-_ they started, glancing at another merfolk of the same shade, this one wearing a blue bracelet. Cooper had a sneaking feeling that it was Harrow’s sister.

_The High Counsellor has decided that I should finally learn our territory,_ Cooper said, lifting his nose in the same snooty way as his grandfather often did. _But he wants me back as soon as possible, so let’s get going!_ Cooper grinned.

_You should verify the order,_ merfolk-whom-Cooper-assumed-was-Harrow’s-sister interrupted. _It seems odd that the High Counsellor should send us a message through his grandson. Everybody knows they don’t get along._

_Hey!_ Cooper exclaimed. _I’m right here, you know. Also, you guys know me. I wouldn’t stir up trouble or do anything I wasn’t supposed to… right, Harrow?_ He blinked innocently up at the captain, hoping that the older merfolk would take pity on him. He felt bad for using Harrow’s feelings, but it was his only ticket out of the Ocean Kingdoms.

_The prince is right,_ Harrow declared. _I trust him. Come on, we’re already late. Let’s get going._ Harrow glanced at Cooper again, then thrust a staff into Cooper’s hands. _Take this. I doubt you’ll need it, but just in case we run into anything dangerous._

An image of the chuul flashed through Cooper’s mind and he couldn’t tell whether it was his memory or Harrow’s. They’d taken something from everyone over the last few decades, after all.

_Thanks, Harrow,_ Cooper replied, swimming out after the rest of the patrol, staff feeling heavy in his grip. He didn’t like it. It felt too much like a spear.

Captain _Harrow,_ Harrow’s sister corrected angrily. Cooper thought vaguely that her name might be Faith. _Just because you’re a prince doesn’t mean you can disregard titles._ Cooper caught the unspoken addition of ‘and the rules’, but neither of them acknowledged it.

_Sorry,_ Cooper said simply, not wanting to rough his chances of leaving. _Captain Harrow._ He couldn’t help but smile as he swam away from the city, looking back briefly at the palace. Would his grandfather search for him? Maybe. Cooper doubted it. He probably wouldn’t even be upset to lose the constant annoyance of Cooper’s nightmares.

With a gulp, Cooper quashed down his feelings of unease. He wasn’t sure if he was doing the right thing, nor what he’d do once he made it to the border, but he was going to go ahead with it anyway. It was too late now. He’d never get another chance, not if he went back after lying to a patrol captain. His grandfather would make sure of that.

_Sorry, Lydia,_ Cooper thought apologetically. _You were a good friend. It’s a shame we’ll never see each other again, now. Tell Scarlet I forgive them,_ he added, even though he knew Lydia wasn’t connected with him.

With a look of wavering determination, Cooper swam on.

* * *

_Dust. Rock. Fire. Where was he? Wilbur spun around, trying to get his bearings. He’d never seen this place before. Dark bricks lined the arch that he was standing in, facing out over a rocky red cliff, then a lake of lava. The interior of the building was dark and Wilbur could hardly make out anything inside. A figure was standing on the edge of the cliff, a man that Wilbur didn’t recognize. Wilbur stepped out of the arch, planning on approaching the figure. Everything had the same strange, hazy feel as when he’d walked in Ted’s dream… but whose dream was this?_

_“Connor?” a familiar voice called out, and Wilbur turned back to the building to see someone that must be Schlatt standing in the arch, his eyes wide and dark. It must have been Schlatt, but he was one hundred per cent human, complete with a small moustache tagging onto his upper lip. Wilbur determined that this must be Hell because Schlatt still had his shapeshifting powers. “Connor, I-”_

_“Schlatt, come on!” the man behind Schlatt looked like Carson, but much younger and with two hands to tug at Schlatt with. “We don’t have time, the soldiers are going to catch us if we stick around here.”_

_Begrudgingly, Schlatt turned back and hurried away with Carson. Wilbur caught a hint of a tortured expression on the face of the man that must be named Connor before he was tugged along with Carson and Schlatt._

_Time seemed to rush forward, and suddenly Wilbur was standing alongside Carson and Schlatt as they stared up at a horned lady on a throne made of bones. She declared, “Kill the human, and you will be pardoned,” before flashing Schlatt a toothy grin._

_“Queen Ryjinah, please,” Wilbur had never heard Schlatt like this before. He sounded desperate. “I just want to return Carson to the surface. He is an orphan, he is of no danger to us!” Schlatt balled his hands into fists and Carson looked as if he were going to either burst into tears or be sick._

_“If you won’t kill the human, I will,” a new voice declared, and Connor stepped out of the shadows. A wicked silver blade was clutched in his hand and there was clear murder in his eyes. “I won’t let you throw your life away like this, Schlatt.”_

_“Connor, no!” Schlatt shouted, and there was a flash of silver and a spurt of blood. Wilbur didn’t catch what exactly had happened, but suddenly Carson was on the ground clutching his right hand- no, where his right hand had just been moments before, and Schlatt’s eyes were burning red with fury._

_The dream seemed to waver and Wilbur swore he could feel some of Carson’s pain as he writhed on the ground._ This must be Carson’s nightmare, _Wilbur realized, wishing that he could help the suffering hero. A wave of pain washed over Wilbur so strongly that he almost missed Schlatt and Connor’s swords clanging together and Schlatt driving Connor out towards a large, open bridge over a sea of bubbling lava._

_Fighting against Carson’s pain, Wilbur stumbled after Schlatt and Connor, desperate to see what happened next. Connor had spindly, spider-like legs protruding from his back now, and they were giving him a distinct advantage over Schlatt, who had shifted into his goat form. In the tornado of whirling blades, Connor suddenly pinned Schlatt to the ground, his sword lying beside them as he attempted to strangle the goat-man with his bare hands. Schlatt choked out something Wilbur couldn’t understand, but Connor obviously did due to his burst of laughter._

_“If you’re so determined to save that human, then die for him!” Connor declared, tightening his grip on Schlatt’s neck with a grin of crazed glee. Something burned within Connor’s multiple sets of spidery eyes -_ he must be a spider, just like how Schlatt is a goat, _Wilbur thought - and Wilbur realized that it was jealousy. Connor was jealous of Carson and Schlatt’s friendship. And it had driven him to attempted murder. Wilbur shivered._

_There was a grunt and suddenly Connor was flying over the edge of the bridge. Everything seemed to move slowly as Wilbur realized that Schlatt had kicked him off of him with more force than intended, and he watched as Schlatt rubbed his neck and scrambled up and over to the cliff’s edge. Connor tumbled down towards the lava, reaching out desperately for anything that he could grab onto, and Schlatt watched helplessly as he fell._

I don’t want to see this, _Wilbur decided, feeling sick to his stomach. Carson’s pain and the thought of what was about to happen were making him nauseous. Wilbur turned away and tread back to where Carson was laying on the ground, surrounded by a puddle of blood, though the sight of that didn’t help much. Wilbur flinched as he heard a sizzling and Connor scream._

Wilbur heard Carson get up and leave their shared room, and his footsteps were barely audible on the stone floor. A quiet jangling of keys told Wilbur that Carson had unlocked the door to the balcony and headed out onto it, and after a few moments, Wilbur followed him.

“Nightmare?” Wilbur asked gently, waiting for Carson to confirm that it had been his dream Wilbur had been walking in. It took a few moments for Wilbur to get a reply.

“Yeah,” Carson replied gruffly. “Just… memories. How I lost my hand,” he held up the stump. “As you can guess, it wasn’t very pleasant,” he huffed. “No wonder I still dream about it. Stupid thing aches all the time.” Carson smiled, but Wilbur could catch the pain behind his eyes.

“I know,” Wilbur watched Carson’s eyes widen slightly. “I was there… in your dream, I mean. It was an accident, I don’t know how I did it, but I saw… most of it,” he admitted. He was tired of lying; he wanted to be upfront about at least one thing.

“You saw Connor?” Carson’s voice was a hard whisper, almost drowned out by the wind whistling by the castle’s towers. “You saw… the fight?”

Wilbur nodded. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “Was Connor a good friend of Schlatt’s?” he hoped he wasn’t overstepping by accident - he’d probably overstepped already by admitting to being in Carson’s dream.

“The very best,” Carson hung his head. “He wanted me dead so that he could have his best friend back. I don’t begrudge him for that,” Carson turned his gaze on Wilbur. “If somebody stole Schlatt’s friendship from me I don’t think I’d be driven to trying to kill them, but I’d certainly be angry and jealous. Besides, Connor’s a demon. They don’t exactly deal with their feelings well,” Carson’s lips turned up in a half-smirk.

Wilbur opened his mouth to say more, but Carson cut him off. “That’s enough for tonight,” the knight said. “I’m going to get a beer and I’m going to try to get Travis and Schlatt to come with me. Want to tag along?” Carson offered.

Wilbur glanced over his shoulder. The sun was peeking over the horizon, so he supposed it wasn’t too early to start the day. “I’m too young to drink,” Wilbur replied evenly. His parents had always said twenty-one was the age he could have his first beer, and he was only nineteen.

“Screw that,” Carson grinned. “You’re an adventurer now, bard, which means drinking! Come on!” and Carson grabbed Wilbur by the sleeve and tugged him back into the heroes’ room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if anybody's mad that I'm going to spoil it, but I feel like I have to say this in case anybody's worried about friend-on-friend violence: Connor doesn't die here. Because this is a fantasy story centred around a literal war, I don't have a rule against friends battling each other or injuring each other, but I have a very strict rule against friends killing each other. However, if two characters aren't friends IRL and I know this for SURE, I'm fine with having a fatal fight (ex. VoiceoverPete killing Nathan Yaffe). I also have a very strict rule against romance; though I'll joke about it in the story as I've already done a few times if a romantic relationship is needed for plot reasons (ex. character a is character b's son), whoever they were with is always made-up and dead. Anyway, moving on.  
> The tale of how Carson lost his hand! And also Cooper's having grandparent issues. Sigh.


	12. Everybody Argues With Everybody Else For No Particular Reason

_ Cyrus raised his hand to his face, touching the inflamed burn scars that covered his left cheek. He couldn’t see out of his eye and he stumbled every time he tried to walk from one end of his cell from the other. Queen Julia hadn’t left him with much to work with, though he supposed that would be the point. Escaping before his execution was nigh-on impossible now. _

_ “Sir Cyrus!” the queen’s daughter, Princess Jaiden, came racing down the dungeon stairs. She was in her humanoid form; they both were. “By the Cloudweaver, what’s happened to you?” she used the name of their ancient god easily - nobody worshipped the Cloudweaver anymore as they had done when Cyrus was a hatchling, he recalled grimly. _

_ “You weren’t there?” Cyrus had seen Jaiden beside her mother during Julia’s huge ceremony that included her condemning him as a traitor, but when he’d been dragged off Jaiden must not have followed. “Your  _ mother _ burned half my face off. To stop me escaping, I assume. Or to make me more recognizable.” _

_ “My mother is cruel, Sir Cyrus, I’m sorry,” Jaiden wilted slightly, “and that’s also why I’m here. She’s planning to send soldiers after King Nathan’s son, and somebody has to get there first. There’s no telling what she’d do if she got her hands on the heir to Cypress’ throne.” Jaiden spoke quickly, checking over her shoulder every few moments. _

_ “I know of this child,” Cyrus spoke gruffly. “How did Queen Julia discover that he existed? I lived in Irys for years and knew the king and his Vice. Nobody knew about the existence of a Foeslayer boy, I can assure you.” _

_ Princess Jaiden spoke softly, brown locks falling over her shoulders. “Before the assassination, my mother used magic to trace the bloodline of the monarchy. Clear as day, Harper Foeslayer is the son of Nathan Foeslayer and Lily Bridges, a…” she hesitated, trying to find a kind word. “...a lady of the night.” _

_ Cyrus would have laughed, but his voice was hoarse from screaming and inhaling smoke. “Lady of the night? Real immaculate, you are, princess,” he crossed his arms. “What does this have to do with me?” _

_ “Don’t you see?” Jaiden looked up at him. “I’m going to let you go free and make it look as if you escaped, and then you can get to Harper first! You can save him from my mother, Cyrus!” the desperation and hope in her eyes made him wistful. _

This is what I’ve been waiting for! _ Cyrus thought. He’d almost given up hope, locked in the dungeon with only one eye. He touched the scarred tissue again. “But… my injuries…” he objected weakly. _

_ “You can find something to hide them under, can’t you? We’ve just finished a war, there are bound to be helmets and scarves and things laying around,” Jaiden sounded ecstatic. “You’ll have to change his name, you can’t go around with a child named Harper Foeslayer and hope that nobody turns you in. And you’ll have to live on the run, like renegades or wandering heroes or something.” _

_ “Wait, hang on, I haven’t even agreed to do this,” Cyrus pointed out, glancing at the keys Jaiden was clutching in her hands. “I don’t know if I’m ready to devote my life to something like this.” _

_ “If you stay here any longer, you won’t  _ have _ a life,” Jaiden reminded him. “You know perfectly well that you’re going to be executed in three days. It’s either escape and spend the rest of your life on the run with the heir to the throne of Cypress or stay here and die.” She tossed the ring of keys into his cell. “It’s your choice, Sir Cyrus.” _

_ Cyrus gingerly picked the keys up from the floor, sorting through until he found one he thought would fit his lock. He hesitated. “Alright,” he murmured. “I’ll do it.” _

* * *

Charlie wished that he could match the stalwart confidence of the former military general riding beside him. Noah was bent over his horse, a grey mare named Sif, the hood of his cowl drawn over his face. He was wearing hardy leather armour and a long knife hung on his belt, making him much more prepared for encountering the Misfits than Charlie was. There was something in his eyes that Charlie couldn’t trace, turning Noah into almost a different man from the person he’d met barely an hour earlier.

Sif and Lion charged down the rough dirt path in sync, stampeding after the faint sounds of hoofsteps and wagon wheels around the bend ahead. The Misfits were in a hurry, but their numbers made them slower.

“Remember, we’re not going to confront them yet,” Noah hissed to Charlie, barely audible over their horses. “You’ll get slaughtered.” Noah flashed a glance over his shoulder, checking that they weren’t being followed.

“I know,” Charlie grumbled. He wanted to confront them, wanted to get his cousin back, but fighting them in standard combat would be like jumping into a lake when you can’t swim - almost one hundred per cent fatal. “What’s the plan, Noah?”

“We need to trick them somehow,” Noah mused. “Make them think that there’s more of us,” Noah ran one hand through the mane of his horse, thoughtful.

“What are they planning to do with him?” Charlie asked, worried. Surely they wouldn’t be planning to kill him; they could have easily done that in their scuffle, from what Noah had told him. Ransom? The Blackthorns wouldn’t pay a cent for him now that he’d left.

Noah was silent. Charlie’s eyes widened and he demanded, “You know, don’t you?”

“They’re planning to give him to some sort of client,” Noah admitted. “I don’t know who or why. Perhaps… perhaps we could wait and find out who it is, then snatch him away when they’re organizing the delivery. If we could separate them and  _ then _ trick them…”

“Don’t change the subject!” Charlie spat. “Why didn’t you tell me this?” Noah had seemed trustworthy - he’d saved Charlie’s life, after all, and was now helping him get Pyro back. But to keep something so important a secret… Charlie’s trust faltered.

“I didn’t want to worry you even more!” Noah replied, a flare of anger in his hazel eyes. “Frankly, Charlie, you’re a  _ child _ and it’s bad enough that you’re insisting on following the most dangerous independent group of rogues in the entire kingdom!”

“I’m not a child!” Charlie’s shoulders came up defensively. “I’m nineteen!” It was a weak argument compared to Noah, who must be at least thirty-five to have fought in the War of Rah’ōxah.

“I’m in my forties and I’ve seen more battles and death than you can imagine,” Noah growled. “I know you’re eager but I know what I’m doing, Charlie. I was a general in the army and I helped create war plans that  _ would _ have won it for us if King Nathan hadn’t died,” Noah’s anger faltered, giving way to sadness and a mix of other emotions.

“Fine, okay,” Charlie muttered, turning away. He observed the trees, mostly the same, intently ignoring the warrior beside him.

“Charlie…” Noah started, but Charlie didn’t want to hear it. He spurred Lion forward, curling his fingers in. He barely knew anything about Noah… maybe he’d been wrong to trust him at all.

* * *

“Swagger!” Fitz called, drawing the knight’s attention. “Get Mason to take over and come up here. I need to talk to you,” Fitz reached up and fixed the bandana sitting around his neck, keeping one hand on the horse’s reins. They all took turns steering the horses and guarding the prisoner, even Fitz, and currently, Fitz was on horse duty.

Swagger sat down heavily on the front bench next to Fitz, expression masked by the battered helmet covering his face. After years of practice, Fitz could usually make a good guess at how Swagger was feeling at any given moment, and right now he suspected ‘expectant’ would be the best descriptor.

“Aren’t you going to berate me?” Fitz demanded quietly, glancing at Mason, Jay, and Matt to make sure they weren’t eavesdropping. “Give me some self-righteous speech about morals and integrity?”

Swagger just looked at him blankly. “You already made your choice,” he shrugged. “Nothing I can say now will convince you to let this boy go, Fitz. I know you too well - you’re far too proud to admit defeat like this.” Swagger sighed and Fitz caught a glimpse of somebody who was just… tired. “Even if I’ve tried to be, I’m not your father, Fitz. I don’t have any authority over you.”

Fitz was hesitant. “Did you know my parents?” he finally asked, his voice a hoarse whisper. “You never tell me anything about them, Swagger. I know… I know they’re dead, but…”

Anger flashed from Swagger. “No,” he replied firmly. “I found you abandoned on a doorstep. I don’t know who you were or who you belonged to. Stop asking me, Fitz.” Swagger quickly got to his feet and climbed back into the rear of the wagon. Fitz heard him tell Mason that he’d take guard again.

Fitz’ hands tightened around the horses’ reins. He’d known Swagger his whole life and still knew nothing about where the knight came from, nor ever seen his face. Fitz wasn’t usually one to pry - he knew that Jay had fashioned his scarf from a Crownguard cloak but he never asked where Jay’d gotten the material, he knew that Mason had once worked for the White Rose but he never asked about Mason’s childhood, and he knew that Matt had an ugly scar on his ribs but he never asked how Matt had received it. They had all left their old lives behind and joined the Misfits, and that was what mattered. But Swagger… he knew more about where Fitz came from than he was letting on, Fitz was sure. Though just like the helmet Swagger always wore, everything Swagger knew was hidden by a strong wall of iron, no matter how hard Fitz tried.


	13. A Chapter With No Line Breaks? How Suspicious… Almost Like How Travis is Acting! (And Also That Shady Lady :Eyes:)

Loud and crowded. Those were the first two words Wilbur thought of when he entered the tavern, accompanied by Sir Carson, Sir Travis, and Schlatt. At his family’s inn back home, even on the busiest days, when Wilbur had thought that the inn was fit to bursting, it hadn’t even been half as full as this small Irys pub. The air was heavy with the smell of pipe smoke and alcohol, and in one of the corners, a full-blown dance was brewing surrounding a fiddler standing on one of the tables. Wilbur coughed as somebody blew smoke into his face.

“Let’s grab seats at the bar,” Carson suggested, starting to push through the crowd toward the few stools that had just been vacated. Schlatt followed him closely, then Wilbur, then Travis bringing up the rear. Travis had been invited by Carson, though he would have ended up coming anyway. King Jordan had ordered him to keep an eye on the band of heroes and make sure that no harm came to them before the tournament in a few days.

Wilbur took his seat between Travis and Carson, with Schlatt on Carson’s other side. Wilbur set his arms down on the bar, unsure of himself. He was quickly starting to dislike this place, though Carson and Schlatt didn’t seem bothered. A glance at Travis’ disgruntled face showed Wilbur that the Crownguard knight wasn’t particularly enjoying being there either.

“Hey,” Carson called out to a nearby barmaid. “Four beers, please,” he flashed her a sweet smile and she just rolled her eyes, setting about filling the glasses for the group. When she placed the glasses down in front of them, Carson leaned over the bar and asked her, “Did it hurt when you fell from the gods?”

She simply ignored him and walked away, but Schlatt turned to Carson with a sneaky grin. “ _I_ fell from the gods, you know,” he commented, his voice light with innocence, but he was distinctly trying to make a joke of it.

“Stuff a sock in it, Schlatt,” Carson rolled his eyes. “You’re not my type, buddy,” he patted Schlatt on the shoulder reassuringly. “You’ll find somebody someday,” Carson looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

Schlatt snorted and put on a tortured, brooding face, to which Carson finally released his laughter before taking a drink. Wilbur snickered as well but Travis was silent, his eyes frantically taking in the bar with nervous apprehension.

Wilbur turned to Travis, wanting to calm the knight down. “So how did you end up on the Crownguard?” he asked pleasantly, smiling warmly. It was an honest question, but Travis seemed slightly suspicious.

“I joined the army with my brother about five years before the war started,” Travis tapped the edge of his glass with his fingers, making it ring. “My brother was assigned to the border guard, while I joined the Cityguard. I grew up here and I like it here - I wanted to help protect the people of my city. My brother wanted to get out and as far away as he could. One night, about a year before the war started, I was overseeing night watch on the south side of the city,” Travis paused and took a deep breath. Wilbur couldn’t help but feel that something was wrong, especially now - if he’d grown up in the city, surely he was used to this environment. But Travis continued before he could say anything. “I was a captain at the time. I overheard a scuffle and chased down a bandit on horseback. I didn’t have time to ask for assistance, so I caught him myself. I didn’t know until afterwards that he had stolen countless gold artefacts from the king’s treasury. I was knighted by the king the next morning and given a new last name in honour of my deed… Sir Travis Gold,” Travis hesitated and took a drink from his glass.

“Congratulations,” Wilbur nodded respectfully to the knight. “That must have been scary - very brave of you,” Wilbur suddenly wished that he’d had the chance to become a knight. He then wondered where his older brother David was stationed.

Travis seemed embarrassed, but not suspiciously. He simply didn’t think it was worthy of praise, Wilbur realized. Travis hurried on. “After the war started and Sir Theodore was quickly taken by the Windwings, Sir Alexander was appointed as the captain of the Crownguard. There was a spot open and the general above me tossed my name out. King Nathan remembered me and even though I was a new knight, there was no time to mess around. I-I’m still not exactly sure why he chose me, but I was appointed only a few days after Sir Theodore’s loss. Perhaps it was because if Sir Theodore came back, I wouldn’t be offended if I had to step down.” Travis shrugged. He seemed more relaxed now, Wilbur realized.

“Did you know any of the other Crownguard knights before you were appointed?” Wilbur became aware of Carson watching the two of them closely and intently ignored him.

Travis shook his head. “I knew their names, of course - Sir Theodore, Sir Alexander, Sir Joshua, Sir Joko, and Sir Adam - but I’d never met any of them. I’d seen Sir Adam and Sir Joshua from afar, though, and all of them during official ceremonies,” Travis paused and Wilbur took that opportunity to jump in.

“Joko?” Wilbur repeated quizzically. It was a strange name and didn’t sound at all Cyrian.

Travis grinned. “Sir Jacob,” he explained. “He goes by Joko because when he was a general, there was another Sir Jacob in the same area and they needed a way to tell them apart. I guess after working with him for about seventeen years, it’s become a lot more normal. I forget that it’s such a weird name.”

Wilbur eyed his drink but didn’t touch it. Suddenly, Carson grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him violently, making Travis snort into his glass. “Loosen up!” Carson cried. “This is a _party,_ by the gods!” Wilbur suspected that Carson had already had more to drink than the other three of them combined. But Wilbur smiled and glanced over his shoulder toward the fiddler in the corner. He wasn’t very good, but the drunken partygoers didn’t seem to care.

“Here’s a thought,” Schlatt put in. “You should take over for that schmuck,” Schlatt pointed toward the fiddler, who on closer inspection looked incredibly drunk himself, “if you’re not going to drink.” Schlatt tilted his head toward Wilbur’s full glass.

“I-I don’t want to intrude…” Wilbur replied weakly, latching onto the strap of his lute. “I don’t think that would be a good-”

Wilbur was cut off by the fiddler finishing a song and promptly falling into the audience, unconscious. The bar in its entirety seemed to find this utterly hilarious, and there was an uproar of laughter. Carson elbowed Wilbur in the ribs and hissed, “There’s your chance!”

Wilbur, trying not to worry too much, slung the lute down from over his shoulder and plucked a few notes. Travis seemed interested and flashed Wilbur a thumbs-up when Wilbur glanced at him. Wilbur took a deep breath and, hesitant, started to play.

There was a momentary lull as the attention turned to the young bard, then as the music sped up the festive air returned. Wilbur, encouraged by the warm response of dancing and clapping, lent his voice to the music and got up from his chair, letting Carson drag him up onto a nearby table. Wilbur grinned as the crowd joined in during the chorus, including Travis and Schlatt. It was a popular folk tune called _Bring the Fire,_ which sped up every time a new verse was sung. Wilbur couldn’t dance so he didn’t try, simply singing from atop the table like the fiddler had done.

Suddenly, Wilbur choked on a word as he noticed a woman in the far corner staring at Carson. Wilbur kept going and nobody seemed to notice his fault, but he was put off by this shady character. She was a brunette with blue eyes and wore light leather armour with a wicked knife hanging at her belt. She wasn’t gazing at Carson in the way he’d initially suspected - admiration, desire, recognition, etc. No, she was looking at him like a hungry wolf that had just spotted an injured doe. There was murder in her eyes.

Wilbur struck the final note and didn’t wait for the applause, throwing the lute back over his shoulder and leaping down from the table. Carson called after him but he didn’t reply, pushing through the crowd toward the mystery woman. He wasn’t sure what made him do it - perhaps running on a high from the praise - but he charged after her as she disappeared out of the tavern’s back door.

Wilbur barrelled out into the early morning sunlight and blinked, momentarily blinded. He whirled around, searching for the woman, wanting to ask her what she had against Carson, but he couldn’t see her anymore. Wilbur swore under his breath and fell back against the tavern door frame, breathing heavily from his sprint.

“Wilbur?” it was Travis, emerging from the tavern door. “What’s going on? Are you okay?” He seemed genuinely concerned for the young traveller.

Wilbur, still catching his breath, nodded. “I saw… I saw a lady in the back,” he stammered, aware of how stupid he sounded. “She looked like she wanted to kill Carson, so I…” Wilbur trailed off as Schlatt and Carson burst through after Travis.

“Everybody wants to know where you went,” Carson declared, grabbing Wilbur by the shoulders. “That was a great performance, Wilbur. C’mon, they’re begging for more!” Carson beamed at him, looking oddly like a father whose child had just exceeded expectations.

“I…” Wilbur glanced over his shoulder to the back road. The woman was still nowhere to be found. “Yeah, I’m coming,” Wilbur looked at Travis, silently asking him with his gaze not to tell Carson about his stupid idea. Travis inclined his head slightly, showing that he understood.

The group headed back inside, and by midmorning Wilbur’s fingers were raw, his head was pounding from the noise and the tiny bit of alcohol Carson had coerced him into drinking (Carson had insisted that he was above the drinking age in Irys, to which Travis had agreed, so Wilbur had believed him), and the only thing he wanted to do was go back to the castle and sleep for a week. Travis had offered to take him back, whilst Carson and Schlatt wanted to stay and ‘investigate’, though Wilbur suspected the only thing Carson wanted to investigate was the bottom of another tankard of ale.

That was how Wilbur found himself in the castle courtyard with Travis, standing by the stables with a killer headache and a voice hoarse from singing. Wilbur cursed under his breath as his head throbbed painfully. _You’re supposed to be a healer, Wilbur!_ he thought angrily. _Can’t you heal your own migraine?_ Wilbur took a deep breath and leaned back, clutching his temples with both hands. He tried to focus but it was no use, his head splitting every time he tried.

“By Pegasus’ name, kid, get over here,” Wilbur’s eyes flew open at the familiar voice. _Ted!_ The white stallion was only a few feet away, penned next to Stal and Milo. Wilbur glanced at Travis, who didn’t notice the horses at all.

“Hey, Travis,” Wilbur called out, standing up straight and starting to walk toward Ted’s pen. “I’m just going to talk to this horse for a little bit, okay?” he smiled like it was some hilarious inside joke.

Travis was taken aback. “Oh- yeah, that’s fine,” he touched the hilt of his sword subconsciously. “It’s bard stuff, right?” if the knight was sceptical, he kept it to himself.

“Yeah, yeah,” Wilbur waved one hand dismissively and turned away, standing in front of Ted. “Can you do anything for my migraine, Ted?” Wilbur asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“‘Course I can!” Ted declared, whinnying. “I want you to try first, though,” the horse touched Wilbur’s forehead with his nose, reassuring him.

“I already tried,” Wilbur sighed. “I can’t focus. It just hurts worse.” Wilbur rubbed his temples, trying to relieve the pressure in his brain.

“You can do it, Wilbur,” Ted encouraged, grinning. The unsettling sight of seeing a horse grin just made Wilbur more uncomfortable, but he was determined to try again.

Wilbur pressed his hands against his ears, blocking out the background noise. He took a deep breath whilst his head throbbed angrily. Wilbur grit his teeth and pushed, feeling a tingling in his feet that meant he was at least channelling some magic from the earth. There was a sudden sharp pain that split through his head, making flinch, but once it receded the headache had gone.

Wilbur blinked, unsure if it had really vanished. Ted prodded Wilbur with his snout and asked, “Better?”

“I think so,” Wilbur murmured. Travis was looking at the two curiously, rather like he was trying not to laugh. “Thanks, Ted.”

Ted flashed a smile. “Anytime, Wil. You should come out later and we can get another lesson going, eh, Stal?” Ted nudged the shoulder of the horse in the pen next to him.

“Don’t talk to me,” Stal grumbled simply.

Travis cleared his throat. “If you’re quite finished,” he started, “I don’t think we should be out here. Nobody’s supposed to know that you’re under the Crown’s jurisdiction, after all.” He made a fair point, Wilbur had to admit.

“Right,” Wilbur stepped away from the stables and waved to the horses, content when he got a few nods back. “You’re the boss, Sir Travis.”

Travis seemed awkward. “Er, no, I didn’t mean-” he stammered, trying to come up with the right words, so Wilbur hit him in the arm.

“I was just kidding, dude,” Wilbur grinned. “Can we explore the inside of the castle?” Wilbur leaned back, taking in the four huge towers and many stone rooms and outcroppings that dotted the huge settlement.

“I-I suppose,” Travis scratched his head. “I’m really just supposed to stay with you guys and make sure nothing happens to you…” he glanced at the gates, probably thinking about Carson and Schlatt. “I guess I’ve already failed.”

“Hey, don’t talk like that!” Wilbur slung his arm around Travis’ shoulders. “You’re doing a great job. See, I’m fine!” he gestured to himself. “Nothing to worry about, Sir Travis.”

Travis grimaced. “I know, but…” he clenched his hands into fists, making his armour rattle. “Nevermind. It’s not important.”

Wilbur’s smile faltered. Travis had been jittery all morning - whatever he was talking about was obviously of some importance. But he pretended like he hadn’t noticed. “That’s the spirit,” he said instead. “Now, where can we find some food in this place?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like Travis. He's a nice dude.  
> Haven't written a chapter without breaks in a while. It was nice to kick back and relax with only one POV.


	14. Out of the Frying Pan and Into the Fire

He was cold. He was always cold. Techno couldn’t remember the last time he’d been warm, or at least not the bitterly frozen that he was here. Peter didn’t seem to feel it, but he knew Phil and Tommy were freezing as well - they just didn’t want to complain in front of their boss. He also knew that Phil was mildly annoyed that Techno refused to call him Sir Phillip, but not annoyed enough to go running back to King Jordan with his tail between his legs. But Phil was a valuable asset, so if he seemed likely to desert the revolution, Techno might have to (regretfully) use his proper title.

Techno had been tortured by his recurring nightmares of fire all night, or whatever passed for night in this timeless expanse of snow and ice. According to Peter’s varying stories, Techno’s mother had perished in a house fire the night Peter found him, and Techno still dreamed about it. Techno pinched the bridge of his nose and crept over to the door, pulling it open in one smooth motion and leaving his plain, simple room in the fortress behind.

The fortress had been there when Techno’s forces had first arrived, just a handful of revolutionaries looking for somewhere outside Cypress’ jurisdiction to lay low between rallies and speeches in the townships. Now his army was at least three times as strong, and the fortress still had room for many more. They had tried to put Techno up in what they’d figured was the master bedroom deep in the heart of the fortress, after cleaning it up quite a bit, but Techno had declined. ‘I’m not a king yet,’ he had said, ‘so don’t treat me like one.’

Techno turned the wool-lined collar on his coat up and crossed his arms, breathing out a frosty breath. It always felt too big, this fortress, even as more and more people joined their cause. Especially now, in the middle of the night, when the ice and snow outside made the world shine as brightly as in the day, the rough stone passageways were deserted.  _ Good, _ Techno thought. He wanted to be alone.

The trek to the top of the mountain should have warmed up the young revolutionary leader, but it failed. When Techno stood in front of the huge glass window at the peak, gazing out over the uninhabited wasteland, he felt no sense of victory. Only dread for the struggle ahead - the road to Cypress’ throne. And somewhere during that struggle, his sword would need to bear the blood of King Jordan, and possibly Vice Taylor. He didn’t think he was ready for this.

Techno watched the sun rise on the horizon, leaving only when it became too bright to see without his eyes watering. He had barely been in the halls a minute before Tommy came barreling toward him, a tightly-rolled scroll clutched in his hand. At fifteen, Thomas ‘Tommy’ Innis was the youngest member of the rebellion, to the extent of Techno’s knowledge. He mostly spent his time riding between Cypress and the Frozen Expanse, carrying messages.

“Sire!” Tommy exclaimed. “Official decree to all the knights of the realm - King Jordan’s hosting a jousting tournament in two days-” he broke off, heaving a breath. “Are you going to go, Technoblade?”

“Just Techno is fine,” Techno reminded him. He snatched the paper from Tommy’s hands. “Let me see this.” He glanced over it, then checked the other side. It seemed to be real. “ _ I _ won’t go, no. Peter would never let me,” Techno scowled. “Find Phil and bring him to meet me in the Grand Hall posthaste.”

“Yes, sir, Techno!” Tommy straightened up, took a deep breath, and took off sprinting in the other direction. Techno was envious of his energy. It felt like ages since he’d been a child. Techno hadn’t even had a proper childhood, not with Peter in charge of his young life. Techno had lost count after the fourteenth house in one year. Peter hadn’t even told him what they’d been hiding from until Techno had insisted on his eighteenth birthday.

Techno shoved his hands in his pockets, shivering, and set off toward the heart of the fortress. They called it the Grand Hall but it was more of a throne room, though most of the decoration had crumbled into ruins. The best guess Techno had to where this fortress came from was that there had been a kingdom here once, but it had been destroyed before or because of the Treaty of Five - the document signed by the rulers of each kingdom in the year now called 1 to dictate where the official borders fell and how each kingdom’s succession would work. If it wasn’t for the succession clause of the Treaty of Five, Techno might already be king on the throne that was rightfully his. He hated settling for this desolate place as his ‘kingdom’.

Techno stepped over a small pile of rubble that had fallen in front of the gaping archway into the Grand Hall. There were a few people here and there, but none of them was Phil Watson. Peter was there, however, sitting on the front steps with his head resting on his fist. He looked asleep.

“Peter!” Techno called out, stirring the old knight. Techno folded his arms and stared Peter down with an accusatory gaze, watching as Peter got up and dusted off his knees with bare hands. If Techno didn’t know better, he would’ve guessed that Peter wasn’t human, the way he dealt with the cold better than any of them.

Peter coughed roughly, muffling it with his sleeve.  _ Scratch that, _ Techno thought. Peter sounded like he was getting sick. “Techno,” Peter greeted, smiling fondly. “To what do I owe the-”

“Shut up,” Techno mumbled. “I can’t believe you, Peter,” he shook his head. “You’re supposed to be  _ resting, _ as I told you yesterday!” Techno pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I’m fine!” Peter objected. “Nothing more than a cold, I swear it. Besides,” Peter smiled, “you can’t run this affair without me. I’m the one who-”

“-started it all in the first place by rescuing me, yes, Peter, I’m aware,” Techno sighed. “I’m indebted to you for saving my life, blah blah, you’ll put me on my throne, blah blah, King Nathan was a terrible father and you’re  _ oh _ so much better, blah blah blah,  _ I get it, _ ” Techno grumbled. “Next you’re going to tell me that I should be more grateful.”

“Well- well, you should be,” Peter spluttered. “I kept you safe for  _ eighteen years! _ ” 

“Oh, and I don’t suppose the fact that I hated every minute of it factors into this at all,” Techno stared daggers at the old man. “No, it doesn’t, because according to  _ you, _ my feelings don’t matter at all. No, we stayed on the run for my entire life even though there was  _ no _ hint that  _ anybody _ was after us, you paranoid sod!”

Peter didn’t seem to have a reply. “I’ll go check on-” he started to walk away, but Techno caught him by the arm.

“Tell me about my mother,” Techno demanded. “And the fire. Or, so help me, gods, I will throw you in the dungeon, because we just got those fixed up and I need to test them,” Techno tightened his grip on Peter’s arm and refused to give.

Peter struggled to make Techno let go of him. “Your- your mother was nobody,” Peter replied, breathing heavily. “Her name was Harris, Elizabeth Ha-”

“Last time you said it was Lily Bridges,” Techno narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, yes, of course, my bad,” Peter stammered. He tapped his skull. “Lost a few marbles recently, you know…”

Techno shook Peter’s arm. “And the fire?” he prompted.

“Your… your home was on fire when I arrived,” Peter said. “I don’t know much about what happened, but your mother was trapped underneath some rubble and couldn’t get to you. She had inhaled too much smoke and-”

Techno opened his mouth to interject, but Tommy burst into the Grand Hall with Phil close on his heels, crying, “We’re here!” Tommy stopped and paused, looking at Techno and Peter. “Are- are we interrupting something?”

“No,” Techno let go of Peter’s arm. “Go take a rest, Peter. We  _ will _ talk about this later,” Techno promised. Peter wrested his arm away and stalked out of the room and Techno could almost see the storm cloud hanging over his head.

“You wanted to see me?” Phil shifted awkwardly, his gaze following Peter out of the room. “Ah- sir?” it was an afterthought, tagged on when Tommy elbowed Phil in the ribs.

Techno pretended to study his fingernails. “Tommy, you can go,” he waved his other hand dismissively to the young revolutionary. Tommy nodded and darted back out of the room.

Techno looked up at Phil and smiled. “Are your skills sharp, Phil?” he asked nonchalantly, though he knew the answer already.

Phil nodded, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword. “They are, sir,” the knight answered curtly. Techno could sense that he was becoming increasingly curious.

“Great,” Techno fished the note from his pocket and tossed it to Phil, who caught it awkwardly. “You’re going to Irys,  _ Sir Phillip. _ Leave as soon as you can.  _ Don’t _ disappoint me.”

And with that, Techno strode past Phil and back out into the cold, cold fortress.

* * *

The hair on Noah’s neck stood straight up when the first unearthly howl echoed through the woods. The trees were thinning out, so he could finally make out the shapes running alongside the road. Noah caught Charlie glancing at him.

“Wolves,” Noah provided with an acknowledging nod. “They won’t hurt us, I think. Wolves are smart - they usually go for slower targets, like wagons and caravans. Our horses could easily take us away from them and then they’d have lost energy for no reason.”

“So you’re saying that they won’t attack us, but they might attack _them?_ ” Charlie gestured to the road ahead of them, where the Misfits and Charlie’s cousin were. “Frankly, I don’t care if the Misfits get eaten by wolves, but Pyro is _unconscious_ according to you.”

Noah’s eyes widened as he realized what Charlie was saying. Another howl split the slowly-dawning day. “Well, it’s a toss of the dice,” Noah started. “There’s never a guarantee that wild animals will do anything… but yes, the wolves _might_ attack their wagon.”

There was a yell and a guttural growl from up ahead and Charlie glared at Noah. “Come on!” Charlie exclaimed, spurring his horse-slime forward. “ _I’m_ going to throw myself into danger so if you want to keep protecting me or whatever, come help me make sure Pyro doesn’t get _mauled!_ ”

The wagon had stopped, so it was much easier to catch them now. Noah hurtled around the corner after Charlie, pulling Sif to a halt to take in the scene. There were three wolves and it looked as if one of them had knocked Matt off the wagon. On closer inspection, it looked more like a carriage than a wagon, because it had a roof (though ‘roof’ was perhaps too fancy a term for the shoddy craftsmanship), but Noah didn’t spend too long thinking about it. The other Misfits were still onboard - Jay and Mason were standing on the roof, Swagger was standing underneath, and Fitz was on the front with the horses. Swagger was taunting the other two wolves with his sword whilst Mason fired shots at them with a crossbow. For a moment Noah was confused - three wolves for all of them? Then he caught sight of the rest of the pack, standing by the side of the road. They looked ready to spring.

“Watch out!” Noah warned, and Jay’s gaze snapped first to him and then to where Noah was pointing, just as an additional five wolves charged the wagon.

The scene burst into chaos and Noah’s first thought was _Charlie,_ then his second was _Pyro._ He tugged the knife from his belt and leapt down from his horse, grateful that none of the wolves was directly coming after him. Charlie, wisely, stayed atop his steed, the horse-slime in question seeming almost fearful. Swagger was still somewhat in the back, fending off one determined wolf with his sword, whilst Jay had jumped down to help Matt and Mason was picking off wolves that tried to jump up at him with his crossbow. Fitz was defending the horses with a long knife and as Noah watched, he impaled one directly through the throat.

After a moment’s hesitation, Noah raced to help Jay and Matt. Matt was clutching his leg and Jay was doing his best to both help Matt and fend off two attacking wolves. Noah plunged the knife hilt-deep into the flank of the first wolf, making it howl, then stabbed it directly through the skull when it tried to twist around and bite him. Matt was then able to crush the other wolf’s skull with his mace, sending it sprawling to the ground dead.

“Is he hurt?” Noah demanded quickly, pushing the wolf corpse away and kneeling beside Matt. There were bite marks in his calf but they didn’t look deep enough that he would be gravely injured - they would scar though, no matter what.

“Noah!” came Charlie’s cry before Jay could respond. Noah glanced over his shoulder and saw that two of the pack were advancing on Charlie, but that wasn’t what Charlie seemed to be worried about. He was gesturing to the wagon, where the three remaining Misfits were becoming increasingly outnumbered.

One of the wolves leapt on Swagger, latching onto his shoulder, and though the bite itself did no damage, the impact knocked him off-balance and to the ground, leaving the back of the wagon exposed. Without thinking, Noah sprinted for the wagon, ignoring the angry wolves snapping at his heels. He slashed one across the nose and stabbed another in the neck to force it out of the way, then clambered up into the wagon. Pyro was still unconscious and Noah grimaced. He must’ve been hit hard.

Noah shook out his hand and quickly slapped Pyro across the face. He waited, then slapped his face back the other direction. “Wake up!” Noah hissed, grabbing Pyro’s shoulders and shaking him.

Pyro’s eyes blinked open slowly and he was clearly out of it. “What…” he mumbled, eyes widening to take in everything unfamiliar around him.

“Put your hands up and get away from him,” Noah cursed under his breath as he heard the new voice, but did as he was told. Fitz was standing in the open entryway, a loaded crossbow in his hands and levelled at Noah’s chest. Noah was still clutching his knife in his hand, which Fitz promptly ordered him to drop. It clattered to the floor.

“Are you here to help us or steal our prisoner?” Fitz demanded, voice muffled by the bandana covering his nose and mouth.

“I’m nobody’s prisoner,” Pyro hissed from behind Noah before he could respond. Pyro cursed and spat in Fitz’ direction, but it didn’t seem to bother the bandit.

“Get out of the carriage and I won’t fire,” Fitz promised, moving to the side of the entryway. “I saw how you helped Jay and Matt just now,” Fitz shifted his grip on the crossbow, “but my mercy doesn’t extend very far.”

Noah glanced at Pyro. “Fine,” he grumbled, keeping his hands raised as he trod slowly toward the exit. As he passed Fitz he stopped, thoughtful, then in one smooth movement grabbed the barrel of the crossbow and shoved it to one side. Fitz let out a cry of surprise and fought to wrench it out of Noah’s grip, but Noah grit his teeth and forced the bolt to stay pointing away from him.

“Let it go, you filthy white knight!” Fitz spat, jerking his hands back. When Noah didn’t budge, Fitz kicked him in the shins with more force than Noah had been expecting, causing him to flinch and loosen his grip on the crossbow. In a split second, the crossbow’s trigger was pulled, blowing a hole in the floor of the wagon. The recoil allowed Noah to leap up and elbow Fitz in the face, then shove the rogue leader toward the door and out onto the road.

Noah snatched his knife from the floor and turned around to free Pyro, but the ropes were already laying, severed and burned, on the ground and Pyro was rubbing his wrists. “Nice rescue, Greypoint,” Pyro grumbled. “This is a right mess, isn’t it?”

“You mean asking a mercenary to kill your cousin and then leaving him a note telling him ‘no, actually, help my cousin fake his death and protect him from my other cousin who is super evil and trying to kill him and is also probably spying on you so be careful’ _isn’t_ a right mess?” Noah replied, the edges of his mouth twitching up into a smile.

“You’ve got a point,” Pyro grinned, cheeky. “Come on, before that ruffian decides to shoot both of us.” Pyro sounded fine, but when he got to his feet he stumbled, and Noah caught him by the arm.

Outside, Fitz had his hands full fending off the wolves with his knife, but Noah was relieved to see Swagger going to help him. Jay was helping Matt limp over to the front of the wagon with the horses - most of the wolves had been drawn to attack Fitz by the scent of fresh blood. Noah felt a slight pang of sympathy as he noticed that he’d broken Fitz’ nose, or at least given him a bad nosebleed.

“Pyro!” Charlie cried, his horse rearing up and away from the wolves snapping at its legs. Then Noah noticed a black slime in the shape of a wolf or some kind of dog trying to chase the wolves away from Charlie, but its claws and teeth didn’t seem to be doing much damage.

Pyro glanced at Noah. “Did you- is Charlie safe? Does Condi think he’s dead?” Pyro demanded in a hiss.

Noah gulped. “In the excitement of chasing after you… I didn’t-” he tried to explain.

This seemed to disturb Pyro more than Noah would have thought. “This is a disaster,” he groaned. “This day can’t possibly get worse.”

And just like that, as if Pyro’s words had dared the gods to prove him wrong, the road exploded into a huge fireball. Noah was thrown backwards away from Pyro, slamming against the Misfits’ wagon and gasping in the sudden blazing heat. Noah’s ears were ringing and in the commotion, only one shout managed to make it through to his brain. It was Pyro’s voice, half-horrified, half-furious.

“Condi!”


	15. Wilbur & Travis Have Some Bonding Time + Cooper Continues to Flee Literally Everything

“You don’t have to follow me around all day, Travis,” Wilbur grumbled, slumping down against the parapet. “I’m inside the castle, surely it isn’t  _ that _ dangerous.” He swept his hair out of his eyes.

“One, the current king was nearly assassinated and the last king was successfully assassinated inside these very walls,” Travis replied matter-of-factly, sitting down on the stone wall across from Wilbur, “and two, well, frankly, I don’t have any other friends. The other Crownguard knights are quite a bit older than me and I spent most of my time working.”

“That’s kind of sad, Travis,” Wilbur replied. “Wait, hang on, you consider me a  _ friend? _ We just met…” Wilbur rubbed the back of his head, reassured that his headache hadn’t come back.

Travis smiled weakly. “As I said, I don’t have any friends. You’ve been nicer to me than most other people, Wilbur.” Wilbur realized that under the sweet, genuine man, Travis was just… lonely. He’d mentioned a fight with his brother - Wilbur wondered if they were close.

“People don’t like you because you’re a member of the Crownguard?” Wilbur guessed, and Travis confirmed with a slow nod. “That’s hardly fair.”

“King Jordan’s popularity is declining,” Travis sighed, combing a hand through his curls. “Everything he does seems to backfire or turn out wrong. It’s not his fault, not entirely… it’s incompetence further down the line and rumours of a true heir that are putting him out to dry.” Travis moved to sit down on the ground next to Wilbur, his armour clanking. “An orange cloak isn’t exactly popular these days. I had to clean tomato juice out of it a few days ago after riding by a riot.”

“A riot? Here?” Wilbur knew the question was stupid - he remembered the protesters with signs that he’d seen in the streets just the previous day. “Do you think this ‘true heir’,” he made quotation marks with his fingers, “will try to take the throne by force?”

“He’s definitely the one sending assassins, so I’d say yes,” Travis pursed his lips. “I did mention the note Sir Alexander and I found the night King Jordan fought off the attacker, didn’t I? It was definitely a distraction, but what it said… I can’t help worrying that my head will be on the chopping block soon.” Travis hung his head.

Wilbur realized that this had been disturbing Travis since before they’d met. “Hey, Travis, lighten up. You’re  _ Sir _ Travis after all - you can fight off an assassin. Heck, you could probably fight off a few assassins, right?” Wilbur lightly punched the knight in the arm, trying not to hurt his knuckles on the iron. “Don’t sweat it. King Jordan will figure out what to do, right?”

Travis’ silence spoke essays as Wilbur’s smile slowly faltered. “He  _ does _ have a plan, remember? We’re going to catch the assassin, or however many there are.”

“You’re still a child, Wilbur,” Travis whispered. “I admire your confidence and I thank you for your support, but you have no idea how hard these things are. You’re going to get hurt. My advice to you is to stand down, get involved as little as possible, and let Sir Carson and Schlatt deal with this. I’ll keep an eye on you until you leave the city.”

Wilbur’s eyes flashed. “I don’t want to stand down! I don’t want to hide while my kingdom is torn apart! I’m a healer, Travis, and I’m part of Carson and Schlatt’s team- if somebody’s hurt- if there’s an accident at the tournament… I want to help! I have a family and I don’t want them to get dragged into a civil war!” Wilbur shouted.

Travis quickly threw his hand over Wilbur’s mouth. “Shush! There are eyes and ears everywhere, and most of them don’t know how fragile the situation is, so keep your mouth shut for everybody’s sakes,” Travis sighed and lowered his hand. “Do you at least know how to defend yourself?”

Wilbur considered lying, but that wouldn’t help either of them. “No, not really,” he admitted, scratching the back of his head. “I had a knife under the desk at home but I wasn’t taught how to use it. I assumed it would be simple.”

“Do you even have a weapon on you?” Travis pinched the bridge of his nose as Wilbur shook his head. “Then I’m going to get you one. And teach you how to use it. We have our own healers here in Irys, but I suppose you are part of Carson and Schlatt’s group. If you insist on helping, I might as well prepare you in case things turn sour.”

“Do you think they will?” Wilbur prompted, and Travis didn’t reply. “Sir Travis?”

“I don’t know,” Travis admitted sharply. “I don’t know anything, Wilbur. I can’t even guarantee you’ll be safe if I hide you. These are dangerous times, and now that you’ve left wherever you came from… you can’t back out now. I’m sorry. You’re right.” Travis shook his head. “Let’s go to the armoury. Now, before I change my mind.” Travis clambered to his feet, dusting his knees.

Wilbur scrambled after him. “Are you sure?” he bit his tongue, regretting the question.

“No,” Travis didn’t look back at him. “But I don’t think I have a choice anymore. I don’t think any of us have a choice. If war is indeed coming… you’d best be prepared before the storm rolls in.” Wilbur didn’t like the forlorn, anxious tone that the knight had. His voice dropped to a whisper. “We’d all best be.”

* * *

Cooper had never swum so far in his entire life. He felt as if his legs were going to fall off, but it was too late to turn back now. Harrow checked on him now and then, and each time he insisted that he could go further.

_ And this mountain range is the border with the Cr’ika’th’inka’fphrah, _ Harrow explained, gesturing to a series of tall underwater mountains that loomed beside the patrol.

_ Bless you, _ Cooper joked, to which Harrow laughed. Their sister didn’t seem very amused, however.

_ They’re a race of crocodile folk, _ Harrow continued. Cooper remembered from his lessons, but he didn’t want to interrupt. He respected Harrow - they had been one of his teachers growing up until they’d been reassigned. Cooper remembered the saying that old habits die hard, and he supposed Captain Harrow was no exception.  _ They like to fight, but they’re not very organized. _

_ Can we get on with it? _ Faith grumbled. She shot ahead, gliding through the water with grace and decisiveness. The rest of the patrol followed after, including Harrow, and Cooper scrambled to keep up the pace.

_ Will we be seeing the Cypress border soon? _ Cooper asked innocently, wishing he could drop the extra weight of the staff clutched in his hands. He wasn’t used to carrying anything heavy while he swam, especially not for such a long time.

_ It’s just up ahead, _ one of the other merfolk answered, gesturing to the dark mass on the horizon.  _ Not far now, Prince Cooper. _ The merfolk smiled sympathetically as if she knew how he was feeling.

_ Will there be any Cyrians? _ Cooper asked, kicking out to swim beside Harrow.  _ I’ve never seen a human before, outside of the illustrations in lessons. _

_ Most definitely, _ Harrow answered.  _ They fish from the shore, wooden platforms, and in little wooden boats that float on the water all the time unless it’s night. Luckily for you, we’re not a midnight patrol. _

_ How do they fish? They can’t stalk fish underwater like we can because they don’t have gills, right? _ Cooper asked, his gaze attracted by a school of tuna nearby. His stomach growled.

_ That’s correct. They use weird poles with ropes attached to them and hooks with bait on the end, which seem to work. I’ve also seen them using nets, which seem much more logical to me, _ Harrow explained.  _ I wish we were allowed to interact with Cyrians outside of the rare trading expeditions. I’d love to ask more about how they hunt. _ Harrow sighed. Cooper had to admit that he felt the same.

_ Quick! _ Faith interrupted, swimming in front of Cooper and Harrow, cutting them off. She gestured to a pod of dolphins that were about to overtake the patrol.  _ Let’s catch a ride with these dolphins - my tail is about to fall off! _ Faith glanced at Cooper as if daring him to agree with her.

Harrow hesitated momentarily, then gestured for the patrol to follow the dolphins.  _ Grab a dorsal fin and hold on! _ they ordered, looking quickly back at Cooper.  _ Have you ever gone dolphin-riding without a saddle, Prince Cooper? _

_ No, but it can’t be  _ that _ hard, right? _ Cooper replied, darting forwards and grasping one of the dolphins by the dorsal fin. He was instantly lurched along, much faster than he could have swum on his own. Confident, Cooper tightened his grip with both hands and let the dolphin pull him in the direction of the distant Cypress coast.

Bareback dolphin riding was much more difficult than he had expected. Without a saddle to hold him in place, he was dragged alongside the dolphin, making it rougher than he’d anticipated. Cooper almost felt seasick - he had thought that merfolk couldn’t  _ be _ seasick, that it was a human infliction that was barely mentioned in lessons because of how inconsequential it was. It was still that, but if merfolk were jostled enough while being towed along by a dolphin, they may indeed experience the symptoms.

The rocky ocean floor fell away as the dolphins darted for the surface.  _ Hold on tight! _ Harrow exclaimed as the first dolphin broke from the water. Cooper thought that his arms were going to fall off, but he managed to hold on as his dolphin repeatedly leapt in and out of the waves.

Then the dolphins made a beeline away from the coast and Harrow shouted  _ let go! _

Cooper was grateful to release the dolphin’s fin but it took him a moment to right himself in the water. They were significantly closer to Cypress now - that’s likely why the dolphins decided to turn away.

_ Is everybody here? _ Harrow asked, looking around. Cooper could see them, Faith, and the three other merfolk that they’d been patrolling with.  _ Great, let’s keep going. Are you okay, Prince Cooper? _

Cooper felt self-conscious as the patrol turned to look at him.  _ I’m fine, _ he answered, relieved when Harrow took the attention back. Cooper had roughly shoved the staff onto his back when the patrol had spotted the dolphins, and now he took it back into his hands. He wished he could just let the stupid thing fall to the ocean floor, where some other creature would surely find a better use for it than he could.

_ Over here, _ Harrow said, gesturing to a large rocky outcropping that pierced the surface of the waves.  _ We can survey the border and rest for a bit. And no, Prince Cooper, I’m not suggesting that we do this for your sake, this is a routine part of patrolling. Even the strongest captains get tired. _ Harrow’s dark blue scales flashed in the sunlight streaming through the water as they lead the patrol to the rocks.

Cooper was hesitant, still wary of the surface. But when Faith looked as if she was going to taunt him, he kicked out swiftly and dashed after the rest of the group. There were no chuul here - nothing to be afraid of.

Harrow got up on the rock first, then Faith, then the three other patrol members, then Cooper. Cooper vocalized a yawn and instantly regretted it, his unused vocal cords screaming in protest. Harrow regarded him with amusement.

“It hurts for a while, but you’ll get used to it,” Captain Harrow rasped, their voice still sounding hoarse despite their reassurance. “It’s also weird to  _ pronounce _ things. I much prefer silent-speech.”

“Scarlet says that my land-speech sounds funny,” Faith grumbled, “but I’m not sure how they found out about it.” Cooper was surprised to hear affection in her gravelly, rough tones. He’d seen Faith and Scarlet together before but never thought about it too hard. Were they close friends? “They never come to the surface.”

Cooper tried to add to the conversation, but trying to get the consonants out was more difficult than he’d anticipated. The young merfolk managed something along the lines of ‘ooh ahh eee’, which made Harrow laugh.

_ It’s harder than you’re making it look! _ Cooper exclaimed silently, crossing his arms and trying to look grumpy, but the laughter was contagious and soon he was giggling right along with the deep blue merfolk. Even Faith let out a snicker.

“I’m surprised you haven’t commented on the view yet,” Harrow said, stepping aside to let Cooper see better. If Cooper hadn’t already known that his lungs were having a hard time taking over from his gills, he would’ve claimed that the sight had taken his breath away.

Closer than the horizon, across barely a hundred dolphin-lengths of water, Cooper could see one of the most interesting structures he’d ever witnessed. It looked like a town, but most of it was built on stilts out over the water, made from that strange material that rotted too easily that Cooper had only ever seen on sunken, abandoned human vessels. Cooper thought it was called ‘wood’. And then there was the  _ sky. _

The sun was high, almost directly above Cooper’s head. It burned his eyes to look at it so he cast his gaze instead to the clouds, painted delicately in shades of grey across the startlingly blue sky. The moon was barely visible, just a crescent shape in a gap between clouds, fuzzy and without sharp detail. Cooper had only seen the sky twice, and both times had been in the early morning. He had no idea that it could be so  _ different. _

“If you’re quite finished,” Faith interrupted his thoughts, and Cooper realized that he’d been staring at the sky for some time. “We have a patrol to finish, you know,  _ Prince _ Cooper.”

“Leave him be,” Harrow told Faith. “You remember  _ your _ first few times, don’t you, sister?” they gently touched Faith’s shoulder with a smile. “Meet us back in the water when you’re done. Don’t be  _ too _ long,” Harrow nodded to Cooper.

“Yeah,” Cooper murmured, only half-listening. He turned his gaze back to the Cyrian coast as the other merfolk disappeared underwater with a splash. That was where he needed to be. He could live by the ocean, but away from his home. It was perfect. Cooper just needed to get away from Harrow and the rest of the patrol.

Cooper glanced down into the water. He was picking up on wisps of silent-speech, but he didn’t tune in. It didn’t involve him.

Cooper had promised himself that he wouldn’t look back, but he broke that promise by turning on his heel and looking back towards the great underwater cliff that held the merfolk’s high city. He could see no indication of it from the surface, but he knew that it was there.

_ Do you even care that I’ve gone, Grandfather? _ Cooper thought bitterly, knowing Allon couldn’t hear him at this distance.  _ Are you glad that your useless grandson has disappeared? You don’t need heirs - that’s not how the Ocean Kingdoms work. I was just a burden. Me  _ and _ my nightmares. _

  
Cooper turned back to the coastline, folding his hands behind his back.  _ Don’t worry, Grandfather, _ he thought,  _ I’m not coming back. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I heard the desperate cries for more Cooper, so here he is!! Angsty fish boy...


	16. A Touching Family Reunion (With a Little Extra Fire to Make it Exciting)

Flames. Smoke. Charlie gasped for air. Lion had gone. Bonk had gone. He was alone. He couldn’t breathe. His hands clutched at the dirt. He tried to get up. Heat licked at his exposed skin. Everything was on fire.

A brown boot crunched the ground next to Charlie’s face and he tried to focus. Charlie’s ears were ringing and his eyes refused to stop blurring. He could smell something horrible burning nearby. Charlie was close to being sick.

“Great Gods, Charlie,” the voice was faint and Charlie couldn’t tell where it was coming from. The figure knelt and put his hand on Charlie’s back, then called over his shoulder, “Condi, you almost  _ killed _ him!”

_ Condi. _ Charlie’s head was swimming. Condi was trying to kill him. He had to get up, had to go, had to find Noah and Pyro… Charlie pushed with his arms, mustering all of his strength to get onto his knees. The effort made him feel ill, but he was determined not to throw up.

There were other voices around him and somebody was yelling. He heard names that he didn’t recognize - Fitz, Jay, Matt, Mason - and another explosion. Charlie’s chest was tight and every breath felt like he was on fire from the inside.

“Charlie, stop! You’re in bad shape,” it was  _ Grizzly’s _ voice, Charlie finally realized. His brother’s face became more visible through the hazy blur. Grizzly reached out to grab Charlie’s shoulders as Charlie stumbled.

“Don’t touch me!” Charlie tried to yell, but it came out as a rasping growl. Charlie pushed all his energy into standing, into staying balanced, and shrugged Grizzly away. He blinked, clearing away tears and darkness from the edges of his vision. Charlie couldn’t see Condi or any other people behind the flickering wall of flames that streamed across the road.

“Charlie, I’m not going to kill you,” Grizzly assured him, once again trying to grab Charlie’s arm. “Condi is just saving Pyro and that mercenary from those miscreants calling themselves the Misfits.” Grizzly glanced towards the fire and Charlie was struck by uncertainty -  _ Grizzly’s _ uncertainty.

“Please don’t lie to me,” Charlie managed weakly, breaking out into a burst of dry coughs. “I know that you and Condi are here to kill me because I’ve proven to be ‘dangerous’.” Charlie doubled over, clutching his stomach as pain shot through his frame.

“Who told you that? Pyrocynical? The same Pyrocynical that hired a mercenary to kill you? Why would you believe him over  _ me, _ your brother?” Grizzly looked hurt, his eyes begging Charlie to understand.

“Pyro didn’t  _ disown _ me and neither did Noah,” Charlie mustered the last of the moisture in his mouth and spat on the ground at Grizzly’s feet. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to help my  _ real _ family,” Charlie hissed.

Hurt flashed in Grizzly’s blue eyes and he recoiled as if Charlie had hit him. Charlie wondered briefly if Grizzly had been telling the truth, but there was only one way to find out. Charlie turned towards the fire, bracing himself against the heat. “Noah?” Charlie called, but he couldn’t hear a reply over what sounded like fighting on the other side. “Pyro?”

Charlie flexed his fingers and silently called out to Beast, summoning the huge green slime in an instant. It was getting easier, he noticed, now that he had to use his powers for something more serious than distracting his relatives so that he didn’t have to talk to them or stealing jelly tarts from the kitchen.

“Crouch down and let me climb over you,” Charlie directed the slime, gesturing to the wall of fire. “Noah and Pyro are on the other side and they might need help.”

“How do you possibly think that  _ you _ could-” Grizzly started, but one rumble from Beast shut him up. Charlie noticed that Grizzly wasn’t nearly as tough without Condi around. Or maybe Grizzly was scared of Beast? The thought almost made Charlie laugh.

Beast knelt in the fire, the flames licking at its form. Charlie could sense that it would quickly start to hurt the slime creature, so he’d have to go fast. As he approached the fire, the smoke became thicker and he started to cough again, tears welling up in his irritated eyes. Charlie fiercely ignored Grizzly’s weak protests against him going over the fire and clambered onto Beast’s back.

Charlie felt as if he’d been stuffed into an oven. The heat was pressing in on him from all sides, with sparks landing on the arms of his coat and starting to burn holes through it. Charlie gritted his teeth and started to crawl, glad for the sticky slime to keep him from falling off. For a moment, in the middle of the fire, Charlie started to see what Pyro saw in the flames - the red and gold almost looked as if they were dancing, playing in a sea of colour. Then Charlie remembered his peril and climbed over Beast’s head, landing awkwardly on the other side of the fire with a dry coughing fit.

Beast melted away as soon as it wasn’t needed and the gap in the flames closed up, returning to its state as a dangerous barrier. Charlie steadied himself with a wide stance and tried to breathe, glancing up to take in the scene.

It was a losing battle. Condi was there, with more elementals than Charle could count - Condi’s speciality. Condi was fighting the Misfits’ leader, Fitz, with hands full of flame, while Fitz was holding his own using a spiked mace and a thick wooden shield. Noah and Mason were driven up against the wall of flames by a pair of fire elementals and Pyro was trying to hold off three water elementals on his own. Matt was laying on the ground, looking injured, and Jay was trying to fight off a wind and a fire elemental while protecting his friend. Swagger was beating down an earth elemental with some well-placed blows, but if Condi added another to the assault he would likely start fighting uphill as well. Charlie wasn’t sure where to go, who to help, or even what he could do to help.

“Charlie!” Noah’s voice drew Charlie’s attention. Noah and Mason were almost standing in the fire, sweat glistening on their brows. Charlie was surprised to see them fighting alongside each other, but he supposed in the face of certain, fiery doom, fighting alongside one’s enemy was the option he would take as well.

“I’m coming!” Charlie gasped, racing across the dirt. He didn’t know what to do, he just ran. None of his slimes was really  _ dangerous, _ not enough to take down an elemental. Maybe he could distract the two fiery spirits so that Noah and Mason could get away or kill them?

Charlie halted behind the twin fire elementals. “Hey!” He coughed, then yelled again. “Hey, knuckleheads! Cornering helpless enemies is cowardly, come chase me instead!” Charlie didn’t stop to think about what would happen if they  _ did _ chase him, specifically to him - he was too focused on getting Noah and Mason away from the flames.

The elementals didn’t  _ chase _ him, but their attention was divided between Noah and Mason and Charlie for a few moments, just long enough for Mason and Noah to fight back without having to worry about being pressed into the fire. Mason loaded his crossbow and fired a bolt into the first one’s chest, where it burnt up but not before doing some damage, and Noah stabbed the second one in the shoulder. Charlie realized quickly that Noah’s knife must have at least some magic to it because it stuck and the fire elemental howled in pain and fury. Elementals could take damage from non-magical weapons, but it wasn’t nearly as much.

“Watch out!” Charlie jumped back as an earth elemental crashed into the ground where he’d been standing. He looked over to see Swagger race after it, sword in hand, then watched as the knight drove his sword through the elemental’s neck. The earth elemental then fell apart into a pile of rocks.

Swagger looked up, adjusting the heavy, squared helmet on his head. “If we can get them alone, they’re easy enough to kill,” he said gruffly. “Can you help with that, kid?” The knight had a strict, no-nonsense tone that reminded Charlie of his great-uncle Theodore ‘Teddy’ Blackthorn.

“Ah- yeah, sure!” Charlie replied swiftly, surprised by Swagger’s eagerness to recruit him into the fight. He wasn’t exactly the most threatening figure, after all. “I’ll… I’ll go distract one of those attacking Jay and Matt.”

Swagger nodded. “I’m going to help Fitz,” the knight rumbled, then charged away to where Fitz and Condi were duelling. Condi had drawn a blade by the sounds of it - clangs shattered the air and pierced Charlie’s ears.

Charlie took off to help the bandit with the orange scarf, Jay, and his fallen friend that was using his black cowl as a tourniquet. Had Matt’s wolf bite worsened during the skirmish? He couldn’t see any blood on the dark fabric, but that didn’t mean anything.

Charlie dodged around flames, his breaths coming in short gasps. He had to hold on - his friends and the Misfits needed help. There was no time to be collapsing. Charlie gritted his teeth and flexed his fingers, wondering if the same trick would work on another set of elementals. Were they all as dumb as rocks?

_ Rocks! _ Charlie crouched down and scooped up a hefty stone from the road, cradling it in his fist. Then, with the strongest pitch he could manage, Charlie threw it directly at the fire elemental’s back with a yell.

It connected and bounced off, crumbling to ash on the ground. The fire elemental whirled around with a rumbling growl, flaring up angrily. Charlie’s eyes widened and he backed away, matching the fire elemental’s pace step for step. He wasn’t sure what to do now, his brain flipping into panic mode.

“Go! I can hold off this one!” Jay cried, spinning his knife around his wrist in a fancy manoeuver that Charlie would never have been able to do, then slashing out towards the wind elemental. “Save yourself!”

Charlie gulped down as much clean air as he could get, then turned and sprinted down the road. He noticed as he fled that Mason and Noah had turned the tide on their foes, driving the fire elementals back into the middle of the road. Heat burned against Charlie’s back and something sizzling whipped past his ear, but he didn’t dare look back.

“Swagger!” Charlie shouted, trying to lose the elemental in the fray as he dove and weaved around the fighters. “Help!” The knight seemed busy trading blows with Condi, but Fitz had been holding his own up until that point.

Swagger turned and yanked the bow from his back, moving away from Fitz and Condi’s duel. He notched an arrow and cried, “Duck!”

Charlie threw himself into the dirt, the impact scraping the soft palms of his hands and the side of his face. One arrow whistled over him, then a second, and the fire elemental howled and stumbled back. Two more hit its neck and burnt up, but Charlie could tell that they were doing damage. Finally, an arrow shot straight through the elemental’s knee and sent it sprawling on the ground next to Charlie.

Charlie scrambled to get back on his feet, looking over to where Swagger was standing with his longbow. They exchanged a short nod and Swagger tossed something through the air to Charlie, which landed, shining silver, on the road in front of him.

Charlie picked up the knife with childish curiosity, turning it over in his hands. It was small but narrowed into a fine point that could do some damage. Charlie looked from the knife back to Swagger, then down at the fire elemental.  _ He wants me to kill it, _ Charlie realized.

Charlie watched the fire elemental start to get its strength back and shifted his grip on the knife. He’d never used a weapon like this before. He’d never killed anything before. His  _ brother _ created this creature. He didn’t want to kill it.

But his brother had also disowned him and was now trying to kill him. Charlie raised the knife above his head and closed his eyes. If he was going to do this, he didn’t want to watch. Charlie took a deep breath and stabbed down.

There was barely a noise as the fire elemental died, as it simply disintegrated into sizzling ashes in front of Charlie. It had been easier than Charlie had thought. Swagger gave Charlie an approving thumbs-up and turned away, while Charlie let out a breath he’d been holding and started breathing easier again.

Looking around, they were winning. Mason and Noah were only fighting one elemental now, and Jay was tending to Matt’s leg. Condi had given himself backup in the form of a fire and an air elemental, but Fitz and Swagger were dealing with them with a cold, trusting precision that could only have come from years of training together. Even Pyro was down to only fighting two water elementals - even though his weapons were made with fire magic, they were still magical, which meant they did more damage. He was also more nimble than the elementals and seemed to be making them fight each other more than him. There was no sign of Grizzly.

“You’re losing, Condi!” Charlie shouted, sliding the knife into a loop on his belt. “Did you really think that you could take on all of us by yourself?” Charlie was surprised at his confidence, but he hoped that Condi was as well. He wasn’t the same kid that Condi had rejected a mere handful of sunsets ago.

“You’ve become-” Pyro started to join in, but Charlie was horrified to hear him cut off by what sounded like somebody grabbing him around the neck. When Charlie looked back at him, there was a figure that he didn’t recognize holding Pyro up in the air by his throat. Pyro was struggling but Charlie could tell that he was running out of air.

Pyro’s assailant was tall, that much Charlie could tell instantly. The figure was shrouded in a thick black cloak and half of their face was covered by a mask, obscuring their features. A single strand of dark hair refused to be hidden by the figure’s hood and the one eye that wasn’t hidden by the mask was such a dark brown that it almost appeared black. They tightened their grip around Pyro’s throat and smiled, a cold, wicked grin that sent shivers down Charlie’s spine.

An animalistic, bellowing roar from the other direction snapped Charlie’s attention away just in time to see a giant brown bear scoop Mason and Noah up in its paws and toss them aside roughly. Noah was lucky, hitting the road and being able to roll, but Mason was not so - he flew straight into a tree with a sickening thump. He looked to be still alive, but a trickle of blood rolled down his face and he seemed too dazed to move. Grizzly had finally decided to join the fight, Charlie realized.

Torn in both directions, Charlie hesitated. He wanted to help his cousin, Pyro, but he also wanted to help his new friend, Noah. When Noah started to get up, Charlie chose and sprinted towards Pyro and his mystery attacker.

“Pyro!” Charlie howled, pulling the knife Swagger had given him from his belt. He didn’t know what he was planning to  _ do _ with it, but perhaps if he made the mysterious figure think that he was going to use it…

Charlie was too late. Pyro deflated in his assailant’s grip, the colour draining from his face as he passed out. Then the gaze was turned on Charlie, blank and emotionless, as the figure drew a couple of tiny dark purple spheres from a pouch on their belt. Charlie reached out, trying to grab hold of something and stop them, but as soon as the spheres hit the ground they exploded into clouds of thick black smoke, masking the area and making Charlie double over in a coughing fit.

When the smoke cleared, both Pyro and mystery figure, along with Condi, his elementals, and the giant bear that had been Grizzly, had vanished without a trace. The crackling flames that blocked the road had started to die down as well.

“Mason?” Fitz was the first to speak, howling the rogue’s name as he ran towards the trees. “ _ Mason! _ ” He practically dove onto the ground, Swagger hot on his heels. Charlie watched as they both started checking the young man over for injuries, and he was relieved when he saw Mason mumble something, though he couldn’t hear what it was.

Noah seemed alright, though a little worse for wear from his impact with the ground. He was rubbing his temples and Charlie noticed dots of blood here and there on his jaw and cheeks. Jay seemed the least hurt out of all of them, but Matt had taken another blow during the skirmish. Matt was still conscious, but there was a pool of blood beneath his leg that Jay was desperately trying to stop from becoming larger. Charlie didn’t know if they had won or lost.

Charlie stumbled a few paces forwards to where he’d last seen Pyro. He collapsed onto his knees, staying there slumped until Noah came up beside him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“He’s gone,” Charlie whispered. “He’s  _ gone _ .”

“We’ll get him back, don’t worry,” Noah assured him. “But first, we have to go back to Eagle’s Burrow. Mason and Matt need attention from a healer and I think we’d all benefit from a good night’s sleep.” Noah smiled kindly, which just made Charlie burn with rage.

“How can I sleep when I know Pyro could be out there somewhere  _ dying? _ ” Charlie replied fiercely, gesturing around at the forest but meaning all of Cypress. “We have to go after him  _ now, _ Noah,” Charlie insisted.

“Charlie, you’re not thinking straight…” Noah helped Charlie as he heaved himself back onto his feet. “We need a plan, we can’t just go running off into the wilderness after a mystery man neither of us knows anything about.”

“ _ They _ were planning to hand Pyro over to a mystery man, weren’t they?” Charlie pointed with an open hand at the tree where Fitz and Swagger were gathered around Mason. “Let’s make them tell us what they know, and  _ then _ we go chasing after Sir Sinister-face.”

“Charlie, your plans are terrible,” Noah commented dryly, and despite everything, Charlie laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Google Doc for this story has officially reached 100 pages!! Also, 40k words!! This is the longest story I've ever written and I'm SO hyped to keep it going.  
> This scene went on super long so I just made it the whole chapter, lol. More of the other characters soon!  
> If you're enjoying Golden, please leave a kudos and a comment telling me what you liked and what you'd like to see more of :D


	17. Antvenom Brings the Boys in For a Talk + Cyrus Makes a Fatal Error

Inhale. Draw. Exhale. Release. It was a routine that Sir Travis had taught Wilbur when showing him how to fire a bow. They’d both quickly realized that Wilbur wasn’t a knife or a sword kind of person, but he’d caught onto using a bow. It was good healing practice as well, Wilbur found, because the string of the bow was wearing his fingers raw. Ted watched from the side of the shooting range, offering encouragement and advice. Wilbur often wondered how a horse, with no bow-shooting capabilities, could advise on the topic.

“I think that’s enough for today,” Travis commented, yanking the last arrow from the straw-stuffed target. “You’re not bad at this, you know, Wilbur.” Travis smiled, retrieving his helmet from the side of the shooting range. 

Wilbur handed Travis the bow and quiver of arrows, then shook out his hands. “Thanks,” Wilbur said. “It’s nice having a friend that’s not as old as Sir Carson,” Wilbur added good-humouredly.

Travis blinked. “I’m older than Sir Carson,” he admitted, scratching the back of his head. “Carson’s what, thirty? He was just a kid at the end of the war. I _fought_ in the war, remember?” Travis shifted awkwardly.

“Oh, er, right. Well, you don’t _seem_ as old as Sir Carson,” Wilbur muttered sheepishly. He wasn’t quite turning red, but he was embarrassed nonetheless.

Travis stepped towards Wilbur and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sir Carson has an adventurer’s spirit. It makes him difficult to understand, yes, but I know you’ve got an adventurer’s heart in you. You’ll figure each other out soon enough. Not like me, I’m afraid I’ll never understand Sir Carson now.” Travis sighed.

“What do you mean?” Wilbur asked.

Travis ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve spent too long in one place,” he smiled grimly. “I have responsibilities here. I have everything that I’ve ever wanted. I can’t be an adventurer like you, and therefore I’ll never understand a true hero like Sir Carson.”

Wilbur opened his mouth to reassure Sir Travis, but he was interrupted by a knight that he didn’t recognize rushing into the firing range. This strange knight was cloaked in orange, marking him as another member of the Crownguard. It wasn’t Sir Joshua - Wilbur had briefly met him before. Which left Sir Joko and Sir Adam. “Sir Travis!” the orangecloak called, raising his hand in greeting.

“Sir Adam!” Travis replied, turning away from Wilbur and returning the friendly gesture. Sir Adam was relatively short, with a round face, neatly combed brown hair that stuck up at the front, and what could only just qualify as a beard lining his jaw. His armour seemed ordinary at first, but when Wilbur squinted he realized that the whole suit was made of gold - or had at least been coloured with gold leaf.

“Wilbur, this is Sir Adam Goldensky,” Travis explained, “knight of the Crownguard and King Jordan’s errand boy.” The last title was said with a cheeky grin and a glance at Sir Adam, who rolled his eyes.

“Nice to meet you,” Wilbur said, but it came out as a whisper, so he had to repeat himself. He then added, “I’m Wilbur Soot, I came to- uh, help Sir Carson and Schlatt with their… thing.” _That was a disaster,_ Wilbur thought, waiting for Sir Adam to reply.

“The pleasure is mine,” Sir Adam inclined his head to Wilbur. “Don’t listen to anything Sir Travis says about me - he’s just jealous that I’m more fit than he is and that I get to go out of the city more often.” Sir Adam’s gaze left Wilbur and moved to Travis as if daring him to contradict.

“It’s not that I _can’t_ leave the city,” Travis huffed. “It’s just that I _prefer_ to stay here. And make you do all the… ‘offroading’, shall we say?” There was a moment’s pause. “What’s going on, Sir Adam? Why are you here? As much as I’d like to assume that you’ve just come to chat, that’s usually not the case.”

“Vice Taylor is requesting the presence of Sir Carson and his compatriots,” Sir Adam declared, nodding to Wilbur when he mentioned compatriots. “He’s waiting in the northeast tower, top floor. I believe Sir Carson and Schlatt are already there.”

Travis quickly laid the bow and quiver that he was holding in his other hand by the side of their makeshift firing range. Wilbur glanced at the straw-stuffed target that Travis had pulled out for them earlier. Travis noticed him looking and told him, “We can put it back when we return. Or…?” Travis shot a look at Sir Adam.

“I’ll get one of the stablehands to put it away,” Sir Adam added. He stepped back towards a nearby door that led into the castle’s walls. “You should hurry.”

As Wilbur followed after Sir Adam and Sir Travis, Ted called out from the stables in front of which Travis had put together their firing range. “Be careful!” Wilbur stopped and turned back, confused. He was only going to meet with the vice, not a known criminal. “I don’t trust that Antvenom guy. There’s something fishy about him.” Ted warned.

“He smelled like fish, featherbrain,” Stal interjected, glowering at both Ted and Wilbur.

“That’s not what I-” Ted shook his head, resolving not to answer. The white stallion turned back to Wilbur. “Just keep an eye out. King Jordan might trust Vice Taylor, but I sure don’t.”

“Wilbur!” Travis called, stealing Wilbur’s attention away from the horses. “Let’s go!” Travis gestured with his hand for Wilbur to hurry up, which Wilbur did, turning away and dashing to the door Travis was holding open for him.

Wilbur could hear Stal’s voice behind him asking Ted why Wilbur should trust his judgement, but Ted’s reply was cut off as the heavy wooden door slammed shut behind Wilbur and the two knights.

Wilbur hadn’t realized how slow he was until he was practically chasing Sir Travis and Sir Adam up the spiralling staircase of the northeast tower. He refused to slow any further and when they reached the top room, Wilbur nearly collapsed onto his knees. His breathing was gasping and uneven as he tried to catch it.

Vice Taylor was standing by the window, a small glass of red wine in one hand, the other clutching the windowsill. The wine looked more decorative than refreshing, and Wilbur suspected that he hadn’t actually taken a drink from it. Sir Carson and Schlatt were settled on a long red velvet couch that faced a redwood coffee table, Carson fiendishly wolfing down crackers and cheese from a platter on the table and Schlatt trying to stop him without making it too noticeable. The floor was covered by an ornate red carpet with golden threads woven in an intricate pattern, and the walls had tapestries of the same style. Sir Travis and Sir Adam momentarily bickered in whispers over which of them should stay, which led to Sir Adam departing via the stairs.

“Haul over that trapdoor, would you, Sir Travis?” Vice Taylor ordered nonchalantly, glancing briefly over his shoulder.

“Yes, sir,” Travis muttered, heaving a thick wooden slab from its place by the wall and slotting it over the gap in the floor that led downstairs. Travis stepped back and gestured that Wilbur should join Carson and Schlatt on the couch.

Wilbur crept over to the couch and sat down next to Carson, wincing as the cushion squeaked under his weight. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself, not with the second most powerful man in all of Cypress standing just a few metres away.

Vice Taylor spun on his heel and hobbled over to the chair that lay opposite the couch, on the other side of the coffee table. He stood behind it, clutching the back with his free hand. Wilbur looked around for the vice’s cane and found it leaning against the wall next to the window.

“Skip the theatrics and get on with it,” Schlatt snapped, blunt. Carson had finally stopped eating now that he was being looked at and had an expression of guilt on his face, but Vice Taylor didn’t seem to notice.

“Please, help yourself,” Vice Taylor gestured to the half-eaten platter of cheese and crackers, nodding to Wilbur. “I’ve brought you three here because I have an important message to share with you. Sir Travis, this doesn’t concern you, and you may leave.”

“But sir, King Jordan ordered me to keep an eye on these three,” Sir Travis objected.

“You’ve only been keeping an eye on _one_ of these three, haven’t you, Sir Travis?” Vice Taylor pointed out with a curt smile. “I’ll watch out for them. We won’t be very long, plus, _I_ saved the king from being assassinated _by myself_ a few nights ago, didn’t I?” Vice Taylor drew himself up, facing down Sir Travis with a steeled stare.

Sir Travis held the vice’s glare for a few moments, then hauled open the trapdoor and left the room. Once the wood had slammed back down, Vice Taylor turned back to the three travelling heroes. Wilbur wanted to speak up about how that had been unnecessary, but he also didn’t want to call attention to himself.

“I’ll get to the point,” Vice Taylor glanced at Schlatt. “You three are going to be capturing the assassins sent by Technoblade, we presume, should they appear, which they should, sometime during the tournament held over the next few days. This we all know. What’s important for you to understand is that if you must choose between saving the king’s life and capturing the assassins, choose to go after the assassins.” Vice Taylor seemed deadly serious, and the statement took Wilbur by surprise. “The safety of this kingdom is more important than the safety of one person in it, and this King Jordan understands. He was simply too busy to attend this meeting himself.”

“You’re saying that we should just let the king _die_ if we think we can catch the assassins?” Sir Carson repeated, sounding as appalled as Wilbur felt. Schlatt didn’t say anything, but his coal-black eyes were flickering with sparks and he seemed troubled. “Sir, I must-”

“You _must_ protect the kingdom. If King Jordan is unseated, Technoblade will take advantage of the transfer of power to launch an attack on Irys and seize the throne for himself. He’s going to launch an attack either way, everybody knows that he’s gathering his forces _somewhere._ ” Vice Taylor shot a furious look at a map hanging on the wall and Wilbur realized that they must have been trying to track down the rebel leader but had been unable to up until this point. “If we force him into a position of attacking sooner rather than later, and without his top assassins to go after me and the Crownguard, he’ll be distinctly disadvantaged. Ideally, I want to come out of this tournament with the assassins locked up and King Jordan still sitting comfortably on the Cyrian throne. But if you must choose, choose the kingdom.”

There was a tense silence in the room as Wilbur, Carson, and Schlatt all seemed to realize that Vice Taylor was right, even if they didn’t like it.

“Do you understand me?” Vice Taylor demanded in a quieter voice, realizing that they were having a hard time with the information.

There was another, shorter pause.

“I understand,” Schlatt met Vice Taylor’s gaze evenly, his face betraying no emotion.

“I understand,” Carson muttered dejectedly, looking down at the floor.

Vice Taylor looked at Wilbur, who felt himself starting to panic.

“I-I… I’m a healer, sir! I can’t agree to let somebody _die!”_ Wilbur exclaimed, surprised at his confidence. He clutched his hands together in his lap, turning his knuckles white.

“I admire your morality,” Vice Taylor replied, “but these are troubled times. A state of war is almost upon us, and in war, sacrifices must be made. Besides, this is hypothetically speaking. It’s highly unlikely that King Jordan will die in the next few days.”

Wilbur took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said. “I understand, sir.”

* * *

_The frantic beating of wings, the whistling of the wind, and the thunderous booming of thunder were all that Cyrus could hear, and yet he was still sure that he was being followed. He must be. A jet-black crow, even in his full avian form, would be hard-pressed to escape the Sky Kingdom unnoticed, even in a tempestuous storm as such. Especially with his recently-removed left eye being as it were - his balance was completely thrown off._

_His one working eye swept the rain-soaked trees below and he knew he was going to reach his destination soon, though it would be far off to the west. He planned to fly past, then use some natural Windwing magic to disappear into the trees and double back and head northwest. It should shake any unwanted company. Cyrus didn’t know who would be following him, but with his luck, Sir Peter would be hot on his tail feathers. And Sir Peter wouldn’t hesitate to rip Cyrus’ life from his body - Cyrus knew as much after what had happened with King Nathan._

_Cyrus feinted by climbing higher into the sky, trying to lead his trail away from the trees so that they wouldn’t be searched until he had gone. He squinted against the rain pounding into his head - his feathers deflected most of the water but the impact was still there. Lightning crackled and thunder roared around him, but he knew he wouldn’t get hit. He was much too small in his avian form._

_Cyrus was momentarily blinded by a flash and a deafening crack of thunder split through his brain so hard that it made Cyrus feel as if he had been struck. He could even imagine where the lightning had hit - his right wing - and he was momentarily unbalanced, veering off-course in the storm._

_No. He wasn’t imagining it._

_Cyrus tumbled out of the sky, searing pain spreading from where his right wing met his body down to his talons and along the edge of his wing. He tried to beat his wings and gain altitude again, or at least slow his fall, but his right wing was useless. He couldn’t fly - he’d be lucky to survive the fall. Cyrus glanced over at the damage that had been done and felt sick - the bolt had torn the flesh away and revealed insides that should never see the light of day._ Cloudweaver, if you’re out there, _Cyrus prayed quickly, despite no longer being a religious man._ I have work to do still. I can’t die - Jaiden is counting on me!

_Then Cyrus crashed into the trees and the world disappeared into a dark haze of pain that stunk of death._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cyrus? Dying? More likely than you think.  
> Also, Antvenom is super aesthetic and I want to draw that scene now :D


	18. Everybody is Just So Done With Everything (Especially Swagger, He Has No More Patience For This Slimy Sewer Rat)

There were six of them, crammed into the tiny room at what passed in Eagle’s Burrow for a hospital. It was far from the worst establishment the Misfits had ever inhabited, but it was no king’s castle. Matt and Mason were laying on twin beds, both unconscious, and Swagger, Fitz, and Jay were crowded around them. There was also a doctor in the room - a man by the name of George Soot, who was in charge of the patients.

“Are they going to get better, doctor?” Swagger asked, leaning back against the wall. There was a small, dusty window next to him that barely provided any light into the room. Fitz had attempted to stand near it as well, but the dust gave him coughing fits.

“Matt’s leg is salvageable, though he’ll have a slight limp for a while,” George informed them. “I’m trying my best to keep the infection out, but his temperature is rising and some of the deeper cuts are difficult to keep clean. Mason should be alright - the bleeding came from a cut and there don’t seem to be any dents in his skull. He simply has a concussion, which won’t have any lasting effects so long as he rests properly.” George sighed. “If we had a magical healer here, it would be a lot easier to get them back on their feet. Sadly, since the war, there hasn’t been enough magic to go around. Too many teachers lost their lives fighting to teach everybody that wants to learn.”

“Isn’t there another doctor that could help them as well?” Fitz asked. “We need to get back on the road as soon as possible. We, uh…” he hesitated.

  
“Don’t worry,” George glanced at Fitz, “I know who you are. A doctor won’t refuse to help a patient, even if said patients are on the run and have multiple large bounties on their heads. My instructor and superior, Doctor Kay, is currently making a house call, and is therefore unavailable.” George moved up to stand beside Matt’s bed and started to check on his leg, undoing some of the tight wrappings around it and peering at the bite marks.

“Doctor _Kay?_ ” Swagger stiffened. “Paul Kay? _Pokay?_ The most famous army doctor in the history of Cypress? The revolutionary physician that proved one could climb the ladder in the world of medicine without studying magic in Irys?” Swagger glanced at Fitz and Jay as if expecting them to know who he was talking about. Fitz had no clue, but Jay seemed to recognize the name.

“Do you know any other Doctor Kays?” George shrugged and grabbed a new roll of bandages. “He prefers not to talk about the war. Too many sour memories. I asked once and he told me that if I kept asking questions he’d be treating _me_ next.” George removed the old bandages from Matt’s leg and uncorked a bottle of something that smelled with a sharp tang. As he dabbed it into Matt’s wounds, Matt twitched in his sleep and grimaced. When George was done, he set about wrapping it up again.

“Will they wake up soon?” Fitz interjected before Swagger could say any more. George took a moment to reply, as he was putting away the bottle and bandages and throwing away the old wrappings.

“Matt, yes. He’ll be in pain, but the sooner we can get him up and fighting the infection, the better. Mason, well, I’d prefer to leave him for a little longer. He won’t be able to do much with that concussion anyway,” George concluded. “We should let them sleep. There’s not much you can do standing around here.” His blue eyes quickly swept over Swagger, Fitz, and Jay, as if daring them to argue with him.

“I don’t want to-” Fitz started before Swagger caught him by the arm. The redhead stopped and looked over at the masked knight, slightly confused.

“Listen to the doctor, Fitz,” Swagger nodded to George. “There’s nothing we can do to help by staring at them. Jay and I both know you’re just trying to avoid Charlie and Noah.” The expression behind Swagger’s helmet was unreadable. Concern? Disappointment? Fitz was finding it harder to guess.

_Is it so hard to believe that I’m concerned about Matt and Mason?_ Fitz thought, disheartened. He knew that he tried to be a strong, tough leader for the other Misfits, but the fact that Swagger thought that he was only watching over his two teammates because he wanted to avoid Charlie was staggering. _Swagger just doesn’t understand. I have to be fierce so that they respect me. It doesn’t mean that I don’t care about the guys I live and work with. I’ve known Swagger and Jay since I was a kid! Matt is like a brother to me! I’m the only father figure that Mason has ever had! How coldhearted does Swagger think that I am?_

But “Yeah,” was all that Fitz said. He wasn’t going to fight with Swagger, not in front of a physician (even a physician-in-training) and his badly injured teammates. Fitz let Swagger and Jay escort him out of the tiny room and watched forlornly as George stepped out and closed the door behind them.

As soon as they were all standing in the hallway, Fitz had the breath knocked out of him by somebody charging into him, grabbing the collar of his shirt, and shoving him back against the wall. “ _You!”_ Charlie spat maliciously. “Tell me where my cousin is, you arrogant weasel!” Fitz was so taken aback that he could barely react, falling back against the wall and struggling to come up with a response.

“Charlie!” The older of the pair, Noah, grabbed Charlie around the chest and heaved him off of Fitz, restraining him as Charlie tried to grab Fitz again. “What are you _doing?”_ Noah demanded.

“That- that _rat_ kidnapped Pyro,” Charlie pointed a finger accusingly at Fitz. “He was planning to hand him over to some client, you told me that! He _must_ know who took him - it must be the same person!” There was a wild look in Charlie’s eyes that made Fitz unsettled - he’d marked the younger Blackthorn as harmless, but now he knew that he was wrong.

Fitz was breathing heavily. He could have fought Charlie off, but Charlie had taken him by surprise. If Charlie had been a different man, Fitz could have been killed. “I’m sorry about your cousin,” Fitz started, “but I don’t know who took him.”

“You’re a _liar,_ ” Charlie spat, trying to pull himself free of Noah’s grip. “How can you feel sorry about Pyro when you’re the one who took him in the first place? If you hadn’t _kidnapped_ him, we wouldn’t be in this situation!”

Fitz deflated slightly.

Noah hauled Charlie to the side and looked directly at Fitz, his gaze stern and unyielding. “ _Please_ tell us everything you know, Mister…” Noah blinked at him, expecting the rogue to fill in the rest.

“Fitz,” Fitz answered curtly. “It’s just Fitz. I never knew my parents. I never bothered to give myself a surname.” He hooked his fingers into his bandana and straightened it - Charlie had knocked it off-centre when he’d grabbed Fitz.

“Mr Fitz, then.” A frown crossed Noah’s face as if he’d bitten into something sour. “Pyro’s the only family that Charlie has left, so we must find him. I’m sure you can understand that, sir.”

Fitz _could_ understand that. He could put himself in Charlie’s shoes, imagining how he’d feel if somebody stole Matt, Jay, or Mason. But he wasn’t about to start pandering to children, whining that they’ve lost their relatives.

“How old are you?” Fitz asked, looking at Charlie, who was leaning heavily against Noah’s arms but no longer struggling.

“Eighteen,” Charlie grumbled bitterly. “Why do _you_ care?”

“We’re the same age, Charlie. I’ve made a name for myself and so can you. But you won’t make it very far by grovelling. Find Pyro yourself,” Fitz stated firmly. He stepped away, back down the hallway. Jay looked back at him, a pleading expression on his face. Swagger just sighed. _You’re too soft, both of you. I won’t have weakness in the Misfits._ “Swagger, Jay, come with me. Don’t think I don’t know that you won’t tell them everything as soon as I leave.”

Charlie’s expression was tortured and furious; Noah’s was disappointed and tired. Fitz felt a tugging in his heart that burned for him to go back and offer to help, but he shoved it down. Charlie finally wrenched himself free of Noah’s grip, his hands balled into fists as he glared down the retreating Misfits.

As Fitz departed, Jay and Swagger reluctantly following behind, he heard Noah’s voice say, “I knew a snake like him would never have enough compassion to help us, but I had to try,” and he tried not to think about it.

“What are you _doing?_ ” Swagger challenged as soon as they were outside. The afternoon sun gleamed overhead. “That’s a Blackthorn and _Noah Greypoint_ in there, son. Valuable allies, especially if we rescue the other Blackthorn, the more powerful one.” Fitz could feel Swagger’s glare through the knight’s helmet.

“I am _not_ your son,” Fitz grumbled, but he was interrupted before he could try to justify his actions.

“You _swore_ that you would reconsider if things went sour, _son,_ ” Swagger continued. “You knew that this was all wrong and I let you go ahead with it anyway, but you gave me your word. Are you so above the law that even your word counts for nothing?” The knight took a step forward, moving from Jay’s side to confront Fitz.

“My _word_ was just that I would reconsider,” Fitz replied bitterly. “I reconsidered, and it’s my final decision that we will not help the useless Blackthorn and his drunk mercenary friend. We didn’t come this far on compassion and _pity._ ” Fitz paused, then added, “Don’t call me son.” He couldn’t understand why they couldn’t see - this was best for the group, even if it didn’t benefit Charlie and Noah. Matt and Mason were _injured,_ by the gods, they didn’t have the manpower nor the time to go chasing after some mystery masked man!

“I found you and raised you as my own,” Swagger reminded him. “I’ve kept you safe for eighteen years. If that doesn’t qualify me to call you my son, I don’t know what does.” He sighed. “When did we go from stealing because we had to to _this?_ ”

“If you disagree with my leadership so much, then leave,” Fitz pointed away from them into the forest. “You said it yourself - you kept me safe for years. You can keep yourself safe. Stay, and obey my orders, or leave, and never come back.”

There was a tense silence.

“I’ll stay,” Swagger said simply.

“And you, Jay? Do you disagree with how I’m running the Misfits?” He turned his gaze on the orange-scarved bandit.

“No, sir,” Jay shook his head.

“Good,” Fitz replied curtly. “Now, who’s going to help me find Pokay?”

* * *

_“He’s dead,” Queen Julia told her daughter. “Don’t bother mourning him. He was a traitor, and traitors deserve to die. I was going to execute him anyway.” The queen of the Windwings was seated on her simple wooden throne, one leg tossed over the arm of the throne as she picked her teeth with a knife. The throne room of the Sky Kingdom was simple, styled like the belly of a great ship. A huge porthole window behind the throne cast startling light into the room, silhouetting Jaiden’s mother._

_“Did Sir Peter’s patrol recover a body?” Jaiden asked, hopeful. Cyrus had promised, he_ had _to still be alive. He had to rescue King Nathan’s son from Queen Julia. Jaiden couldn’t do this by herself._

_“No,” Queen Julia admitted. “But there was blood and feathers everywhere, too many for a living Windwing to shed. He probably hid in a hole to try to keep out of the rain and died there. Sir Peter recovered the child and disposed of the mother. Rotten mink, she was.” Jaiden had a suspicion that her mother was lying about something, but she wasn’t sure which part. Her mother often lied to her._

_“Disposed of?” Jaiden was horrified. Cyrus must have been dead if he had let the child fall into her mother’s hands_ and _let the child’s mother be murdered. “She’s not- you didn’t-”_

_“Slit her throat and burn everything down?” A sly, evil smile grew on Queen Julia’s face as she tossed the knife away and adjusted her seating on the throne. “_ I _didn’t, but the patrol did. We’re at war, in case you had forgotten.”_

_“The war ended when King Jordan returned Rah’ōxah’s ashes!” Jaiden objected. “There was no reason to- she’d already lost her_ child, _did you have to take her life as well? And the house…”_

_“I was under the impression that I was being merciful,” Queen Julia replied. “Much easier for her to die than to go on living without her only kin. There was no reason to leave the house standing, especially with so much blood staining the boards. It was a dreadful scene, Sir Peter said.”_

_Jaiden felt sick. She staggered, grasping for a nearby wooden pillar to lean on. Jaiden tried to steady her breathing, but it kept catching in her throat. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes. Neither of them - Cyrus nor Lily - deserved to die that way._

_“Cyrus and that bothersome girl don’t deserve your tears,” Queen Julia scolded, drumming her fingers on the arm of the throne. “You’re dismissed, daughter. Go do something useful instead of wallowing in your foolish sorrow.”_

_Jaiden turned on her heel and sprinted from the room, wanting nothing more than to clip her mother’s wings and throw her from the highest peak in the Sky Kingdom. She was a horrible, cruel woman and Jaiden knew that if she plotted to overthrow her mother, most of the kingdom would support her. Support for the war that Queen Julia had dragged the kingdom into had significantly decreased in the last few years._

_Jaiden found a secluded corner of the palace and hid. Her room wasn’t safe from her mother’s prying eyes, so no sense going there. The queen was rich and could pay spies well._

My mother never tells the whole truth, _Jaiden reassured herself, trying not to cry._ She’s lying about something. She has to be. _But she’d never know what. Nobody ever told her anything. The only reason her mother hadn’t disposed of her like her brothers was because she needed an heir… which had never been as reassuring as Jaiden pretended it was._

  
Someday, mother, _Jaiden thought._ Someday, I’m going to kill you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the end for flashback sequences for a while - there's enough to cover in the current time and the main POV character for flashbacks is gone :)  
> Fitz is the Clear Sky of this story - he really sucks tbh XD  
> I promise I like your content a lot, Fitz!! lmaoo


	19. This Chapter is Not a Retcon No Matter What Anybody Says Just Be Quiet and Read It

Early morning sunlight slanted through the window as birds started to cry, and Wilbur remembered that today, everything would become serious. The tournament’s opening ceremonies were to be held that afternoon, then all of the participating knights and their squires were invited to a banquet in the castle’s hall. Wilbur had memorized the schedule for the next couple of days after the group’s meeting with Vice Taylor, just in case. When he’d woken up, he’d been glad that he hadn’t been thrown into somebody else’s nightmare and could have finally had a good night's rest - or at least, he would have had a good rest if he hadn’t woken up at dawn.

Wilbur hated sitting still. He wasn’t a disruptive, fidgety person, but if he had the option to move, he would. That was what drew him out of bed at that infernal hour, chasing him out of the three adventurers’ shared room and down the halls, accompanied only by the sound of his footsteps.

Wilbur soon found himself climbing the stairs in one of the towers up to the observatory. Sir Travis had briefly mentioned it before, and he figured it would be a good place to look at the stars as they faded away, and then watch the sunrise. When Wilbur reached the top of the tower, he was almost awed by the polished glass ceiling that was nearly invisible, providing an unbarred view into the sky. There was a telescope, but Wilbur was content not using it.

Wilbur stepped towards the glass, outstretching one hand as if he were going to scoop the very stars from the sky. He was then startled by a gruff voice calling his name, making him stumble and nearly faceplant into the domed glass ceiling.

“Wilbur?” Schlatt repeated, emerging from a nearby armchair. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I apologize.” The goat demon approached Wilbur cautiously, wringing his three-fingered paws together. He seemed uneasy. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you.”

“Speak away,” Wilbur stammered, leaning back against the glass to steady himself. It was an eerie sight, the looming demon with coal-black eyes dashed through with red. He was agitated, as shown by the flames flickering in his irides.

“I know about your dream-walking,” Schlatt admitted. “Carson told me. I know that you saw what happened with Connor.” He didn’t have to say anything more before Wilbur jumped in.

“I’m sorry, it was an accident,” Wilbur said hurriedly. “I didn’t mean to see it and I didn’t see everything, Carson didn’t seem bothered so I didn’t worry about-” he fell short as Schlatt held up one hand, searching for silence.

“That’s not what I wanted to talk about,” Schlatt shook his head, then paused. He was choosing his words carefully. “What you saw in Carson’s dream… it didn’t happen like that. I’ve spent too long bearing this burden myself.” Schlatt hesitated, letting Wilbur jump in.

“What are you saying, Schlatt?” Wilbur prompted, leaning forward curiously and with a glint of confusion in his eyes.

“I… I tried to erase Carson’s memories,” Schlatt admitted. “They were too painful for him to bear. But instead, they were changed, reflecting how Carson had perceived Connor instead of how he actually was. The memories became less painful, but… Carson doesn’t know the truth. He  _ can’t _ know the truth. It might kill him.” The goat demon sighed. “I couldn’t risk going back in to fix my mistake. It was dangerous enough trying the first time.”

“What happened that day?” Wilbur asked gently, crossing the room to stand beside Schlatt as the light finally touched where the demon stood. “Can you tell me? I swear that I won’t tell a soul.”

“I-I can’t tell you,” Schlatt seemed to be choking up, his words clipped and heavily controlled. He took a shaky breath and added, “but I can show you. Take my hand, Wilbur.” He extended a three-fingered paw to the young bard. “I’ve still got  _ some _ of my old powers left.”

There was barely a moment’s hesitation before Wilbur grasped Schlatt’s hand and was jolted into a memory.

_ Schlatt charged out from beneath the arch, tugging Wilbur along with him. Already this was different - Schlatt had been pulled away by Carson the first time Wilbur had viewed this scene. “Connor, I want to apologize,” Schlatt declared, meeting Connor on the edge of the cliff. A bubbling pool of lava lay far below their feet, and Wilbur gulped. He remembered all too well the sights he’d seen before. “I haven’t been really… paying attention to you recently. I’ve been too focused on helping Carson get home. I know you’re jealous and that’s why you’ve been snapping at me… but I need your help. We just need somebody to make sure that the queen doesn’t catch up with us.” _

_ “Will you come back?” Connor asked softly. “After you’ve returned Carson to the surface?” Three pairs of eyes blinked at Schlatt expectantly. _

_ Schlatt hesitated. “I don’t know.” _

_ The memory shifted and Wilbur was dragged into a hallway, where Schlatt and Carson were standing. There were sounds of yelling from further down the hall, and the two exchanged a nervous glance. Carson seemed scared. _

_ “I told you he’d betray us!” Carson yelped, trying to push Schlatt down the hallway. Schlatt refused to budge, staring wide-eyed into the darkness. _

_ “Connor…” _

_ The throne room. Wilbur felt sick as he remembered the blood that had splattered the floor. Queen Ryjinah leered down from the throne hewn completely from bones, her claw-like fingers gripping the armrests tightly. _

_ “It’s disappointing that you fell for this human’s tricks, Schlatt,” the horned woman said. “I’m glad that your friend Connor had the decency to report him to us.” Queen Ryjinah lifted a hand and Connor tentatively stepped out from the shadows, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword in its sheath. “Connor, why don’t you do the honours? Rid our kingdom of this human filth,” she spat out the words as if they burned her tongue. _

_ Connor drew his sword and hesitated. “Queen Ryjinah…” he protested weakly, gazing up at the queen. _

_ “Carson is innocent!” Schlatt exclaimed, forcing Carson behind him with a swift movement. “He’s just a human orphan. He has never been shown mercy by the humans, so surely we can show that we’re better than the humans by sparing him? That  _ is _ why we closed our borders and refused to go to war in the first place, isn’t it?” _

_ “An orphan? Nobody will miss him, then,” Queen Ryjinah scowled, then turned back to Connor. “Kill him!” _

_ Connor stepped out and Schlatt retreated by a few paces, keeping Carson tucked safely behind him. But Connor didn’t move toward Schlatt, instead, he stopped in front of the throne and declared, “No.” _

_ “No?” Queen Ryjinah’s eyes narrowed in fury. “How dare you say no to me! I am your  _ queen _ , you must obey me. This human has your best friend under a spell, surely his death would benefit you!” The demon queen stood up, glaring down at all three of them. “Connor, kill him!” _

_ Connor’s gaze was unwavering as he set his jaw. “I won’t do it,” he replied, letting his sword drop to the floor. It clattered loudly and Wilbur swore he could see smoke billowing from Queen Ryjinah’s ears. _

_ “Fine, then,” Queen Ryjinah growled through gritted teeth. “I’ll kill the rat myself.” The queen snapped her fingers and summoned a wicked, curved blade out of the air, clutching it in her right hand. She stepped down from the dais and slowly paced towards Schlatt and Carson. _

_ “Schlatt, give me the human or I’ll kill you both,” Queen Ryjinah demanded. Connor was standing off to the side, looking conflicted. “Now!” _

_ Hesitantly, Carson stepped out from behind Schlatt. Schlatt tried to pull him back, but Carson pulled away. “I won’t let you die for me,” Carson declared. “Thanks for everything, Schlatt.” He moved to stand before the demon queen, a wavering expression of determination. _

_ “Goodbye, filth,” Queen Ryjinah spat, raising her sword. As she began to slice down, Wilbur heard a howl of “No!” before there was a flash of silver and a spurt of blood. _

_ It took Wilbur a moment to process. Carson was laying on the ground, clutching the stump of his right hand. And Connor… Connor was standing where Carson had been, a bloody wound slashed across his chest. Connor had pushed Carson out of the way. _

_ Connor coughed, spitting up blood, and began to teeter. Queen Ryjinah looked puzzled and torn. Schlatt rushed forward and caught Connor’s arm, steadying him. _

_ “I’m a demon,” Connor muttered, wiping blood from his lip. “I can survive this. Get Carson out of here, Schlatt.” _

_ Schlatt hesitated, eyeing the demon queen. The wound on Connor’s chest was already starting to stitch itself up, but Wilbur could sense the unease and tension in the room. _

_ “You’re a fool, Connor,” Queen Ryjinah finally hissed, before grabbing Connor by the neck and hurtling him through the open wall, down to where the lava waited. There were a splash and a sizzling sound, but the only scream came from Carson, who was writhing on the ground in a scary pool of blood. _

_ Schlatt rushed to the edge of the cliff, looking horrified. Wilbur could feel his terror and sorrow, and Wilbur realized that Schlatt wished  _ he _ had saved Carson instead of letting Connor do it. _

_ Queen Ryjinah cradled her face in one hand, conflicted. “Go,” the demon queen croaked. “Take your human and go, Schlatt. And don’t come back.” _

Wilbur fell back into the armchair, jolted suddenly from Schlatt’s memories. The goat demon swooped down to look at him, concerned.

“Are you alright, Wilbur?” Schlatt asked gently. “I didn’t think about-”

“No, no, I’m fine,” Wilbur insisted, waving a hand dismissively. “It wasn’t any worse than dream-walking.” But it  _ had _ been worse. Instead of the hazy feel of a dream, everything had felt sharp and wholeheartedly real, and Wilbur had been able to feel Schlatt’s deep-cut grief. There was an ache in Wilbur’s heart that didn’t belong to him, but he felt it nonetheless. “Connor saved Carson’s life.”

Schlatt nodded slowly. “He died a hero, not the traitor that Carson believes he was.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Wilbur murmured solemnly, inclining his head.

“Don’t be,” Schlatt shook his head. “Connor and I had been friends for millennia. He deserved to finally rest,” Schlatt sighed. “Sometimes, I feel that I deserve to finally die as well, but I can’t help thinking that there’s something more I have to do first, or something I have to see.”

“How do demons usually…” Wilbur trailed off, realizing that his question was insensitive.

“Die?” Schlatt finished. He grimaced.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” Wilbur insisted hurriedly.

“No, no, it’s alright. Most demons just fade away after a billion or so years. Demons can’t be killed by blades unless hacked into many pieces, and we can’t be killed by hypothermia, sickness, nor lightning strikes either. The only sure way to kill a demon deliberately is to…” Schlatt hesitated. “...to burn them. It’s believed that fire purifies our souls and lets us move on. I’m not sure if  _ I _ believe that, but I’ve seen fire work before. And lava.”

“But you live in Hell! There are fire and lava  _ everywhere, _ ” Wilbur exclaimed, surprised.

Schlatt shook his head. “Not as much as you might think. Ryjinah just has it everywhere in the castle in case she needs to perform an execution.”

Wilbur frowned. “I didn’t- this is a  _ horrible _ conversation topic,” he stammered, which made Schlatt laugh.

“I’ve seen a lot of people die, I happen to know a lot about mortality,” Schlatt commented. “Let me help you up - we should be heading back. Sir Travis will be beside himself.” The goat demon grabbed Wilbur’s hand and hauled him to his feet.

“Sometimes I think he thinks he’s my father,” Wilbur joked, glad for the change of topic. “Vice Taylor’s jibe about Sir Travis only keeping an eye on one of us was closer to the truth than sir knight would like to admit.”

“I saw you two shooting in the yard - are you any good?” Schlatt asked as they started to descend the stairs. “I’m quite handy with a crossbow myself.”

“I doubt I could lift a crossbow, nevermind shoot one,” Wilbur commented. “I’m… not bad with a shortbow, I guess, though yesterday was my first time using one. My brothers are mostly the punching type, so I always focused my attention there. Still rotten at fighting, however. I’ve been decked in the face more times than I’d like to admit, mostly by accident. When you’re brawling over food, there’s a guarantee you’re going to get a fist or an elbow or a knee in the head.”

“We don’t expect you to be a fighting ace, bard,” Schlatt reminded him, “but it’s good that you’re learning your way around  _ something. _ You’re going to need it if things turn out badly at the tournament.”

“Do you think they will?” Wilbur asked, recalling his conversation with Sir Travis.

“I’m a demon,” Schlatt smiled sweetly. “It’s my job to look at things from the worst point of view.”

“Remind me never to come to you for dating advice, then,” Wilbur replied dryly, and he pushed open the door.

* * *

_ Go on ahead, we’ll catch up. I’d like to speak to the prince privately, _ Captain Harrow explained to the rest of the patrol. Faith glared at them both before following the blue merfolk’s orders and swimming away in the opposite direction.

_ As prickly as a pufferfish, isn’t she?  _ Harrow said to Cooper as soon as Faith was out of range.  _ I have no idea how Scarlet finds it attractive. _

_ Did you call me back just to gossip or was there a point? _ Cooper asked tersely. Maybe if he could make Harrow angry with him, he could slip away.

_ Just trying to remind you of your home, _ Harrow answered with a shrug. Instantly, Cooper knew that Harrow had figured out where he was going. When Cooper didn’t say anything, Harrow went on,  _ I’m right in assuming that you’re running away, hm? You’ve got that look in your eye - deserters all have the same expression. _

_ I’m not a deserter. We’re not at war, _ Cooper replied, folding his arms. It was typical of an army captain to think of things in terms of a war.

_ Maybe not to you, we’re not, _ Harrow said.  _ You’ve been omitted from war council for a full year, Cooper. Yes, we’ve pushed the chuul out of merfolk territory, but the Ino and Saelis are fighting an uphill battle against infestations on their borders. Between another pod of chuul and an epidemic, the Y’nit have been almost wiped out. A variation of the Iceblood plague, we think. _

Cooper hesitated.  _ I… I can’t go back, _ he whispered weakly.  _ I saw my parents die, Harrow. Everything here just reminds me of them. _

_ You have to go until you can come back. _ Harrow nodded, their expression pitiful and understanding.  _ In that case, I think you should have this. _ They drew a fancy rapier from their belt, handing it in the sheath to Cooper.

_ I can’t take your- _ Cooper protested, holding his hands out in a gesture of stop.

_ It’s not mine. It belonged to your father before he died, _ Harrow explained.  _ Lucio intended for you to get it, but you weren’t ready for it, what with the nightmares and everything. _

Cooper gingerly took the blade, sliding it out of the sheath. Its blade gleamed silver through the water, the tip narrowing into a fine point that made Cooper uneasy. It had been sharpened recently, but not used.  _ Are you sure I can… _

_ It’s yours by right, _ Harrow insisted. _ I hope that you won’t need it, but better safe than sorry. I’ll take that staff off your hands. _

Cooper slid the rapier back into its sheath and then through a loop on his belt. He took the staff from his back and handed it to Harrow, grateful.  _ Thanks, Harrow. I’m… I’m really sorry. _

Harrow placed a hand on Cooper’s shoulder.  _ I think of you as my own son, Cooper. Lucio and Dante were two of my closest friends. I considered running away a few times, but there was too much holding me here. I know why you have to go.  _ They smiled and pulled Cooper in for a hug, which Cooper accepted. _ Send me a seagull sometime, Cooper. _

Harrow broke the hug and held Cooper at arm’s length.  _ Go now, before they get suspicious. I’ll say you needed some time alone. Good luck. _

Cooper smiled sheepishly.  _ Tell Lydia that I’m okay, please. I… I… _ he couldn’t find the words to explain everything he wanted Harrow to know.

_ I will. Don’t overthink it, just go, Cooper. You can do this. _ After a moment’s pause, Harrow added, _ Your fathers would be proud of you. _

_ You really think so? _ Cooper replied, surprised. Running away was a coward’s move, and his parents had been anything but.

_ I do. _ Harrow gave Cooper a gentle shove in the direction of the shore.  _ Goodbye, Prince Cooper. _

  
_ I’ll see you again, Captain Harrow, _ Cooper replied, and he started to swim for Cypress.


	20. Everything That Can Go Wrong Does

It seemed like every knight in the entire kingdom was gathered in the courtyard, waiting for the king to make an appearance. Wilbur and Sir Carson were standing between a knight that had introduced himself and his squire as Sir Phillip and Tommy and a knight that was wearing a helmet with the visor down and refused to speak to anybody. All three of them made Wilbur uneasy, even if Tommy seemed like just a curious kid and Sir Phillip was being very kind. Schlatt and Sir Travis were on the wall overlooking the courtyard, positioned there with the other Crownguard knights and some of the higher-ups in the Cityguard to make sure that nothing went wrong. Wilbur had looked for Schlatt but couldn’t see him - which was a good thing. They didn’t want any of the knights seeing Schlatt again later and revealing that the trio was working for the Crown.

A short trumpet blast drew all eyes to the castle balcony, where first Sir Alexander emerged from the vibrant red curtain, before holding it open for the king. The trumpeter disappeared behind them, leaving King Jordan and the head of the Crownguard together on the balcony. Wilbur couldn’t see Vice Taylor anywhere.

“Knights of field, forest, and coast,” King Jordan announced, his voice booming around the courtyard. “It is my pleasure to welcome you to this jousting tourney. I am ecstatic to see so many of you here, especially with the fallacious rumours flying around,” the king paused. “The tournament will officially start tomorrow, so there may be some brothers in arms joining us late - though who would want to miss a royal feast, I don’t know.”

There was a quiet rumble of laughter from some of the more outgoing knights, including Sir Carson. Wilbur was too anxious to laugh, but he forced himself to chuckle.

“In the meantime, the feast will start when the sun touches the tip of Nathan’s Hold,” King Jordan directed the crowd’s attention to the great mountain on their right, not the tallest peak in the Sky Kingdom but the only one that Cypress still controlled after the war. “Please make your way to the Great Hall at a reasonable speed, but feel free to meet your fellow knights on the way. After all, you are not competitors until tomorrow,” King Jordan paused, then nodded. “Thank you.” The king turned and disappeared back behind the curtain, and after a brief second, Sir Alexander followed.

“That went well,” Sir Carson commented. He clapped his hand to his stump and declared, “Let’s go to the Great Hall. I want to meet up with Schlatt. Come along, squire.” He beckoned to Wilbur, who was posing as his squire for the time being. It was easier to explain and less suspicious that Sir Carson was bringing Wilbur along.

“Can I go with Wilbur?” Wilbur heard Tommy pipe up behind him. He was a nice kid, about fifteen, Wilbur thought, so Wilbur didn’t turn around to object. Sir Phillip must have nodded, because before Wilbur could think any more, Tommy was at his arm.

“Am I intruding, Sir Carson?” Tommy asked politely, leaning past Wilbur to speak to the knight.

“Not at all, kid,” Sir Carson replied, smiling. Sir Carson caught Wilbur’s eye and twitched his head towards Tommy, a gesture that Wilbur could only understand as ‘we have to talk about him later’.

“Have you been a squire long, Wilbur?” Tommy asked. Wilbur had been busy staring at the curtain and now-empty balcony, hardly recognizing that Tommy had spoken to him until Sir Carson elbowed him in the side.

“Ow! Wh- yeah, a few years,” Wilbur muttered, rubbing his side. They’d agreed on this fact beforehand - nineteen was a little old for a new squire. “It’s really great. Awesome, in fact. Sir Carson’s great.”

“What about the goat?” Tommy didn’t seem to catch on to anything suspicious as they entered the castle, greeted by smooth cobblestone walls and floors and a plush red carpet.

“The goat? You mean Schlatt?” Wilbur questioned, surprised. He didn’t know that Schlatt was such a centrepiece.

“He doesn’t like being referred to as ‘the goat’,” Sir Carson put in, making quotations with his one good hand. “He’s not an animal, he’s a demon.”

Tommy gaped. “So it’s true? You really went to Hell and befriended a monster?” His eyes were aglow with curiosity and awe. Wilbur suspected this was a regular occurrence, by Sir Carson’s reaction.

“He’s not a monster either,” Sir Carson pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s just dumb luck that he lost the ability to shapeshift when we left Hell and got stuck in that furry goat-man form. If the coin had landed differently, nobody would treat him like some kind of freak show attraction.” Sir Carson sounded as if he were trying very hard not to lose his temper, his tone more exasperated than angry.

Tommy covered his mouth and muttered, “Oops, sorry, sir. Sir Phillip tells me that I shouldn’t ask so many questions and I’m really trying, sir. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Sir Carson closed his hand around his stump and fell silent. Wilbur wondered if he could use magic to help the pain. He’d have to remember to ask later.

“You can ask  _ me _ questions, I don’t mind,” Wilbur said, catching a glimpse of a large set of double doors flanked by two guards up ahead. Their yellow cloaks marked them as Cityguard. Now that Wilbur thought about it, he’d seen an awful lot of yellow cloaks in the halls and around the courtyard. King Jordan and Vice Taylor had tightened security, for good reason.

“What do you think of Technoblade?” Tommy asked suddenly.

Wilbur could have sworn that his heart stopped. “I… well, um… I don’t think… uh… King Jordan is on the throne and he’s doing fine, and that’s good enough for me, I suppose,” Wilbur stammered, scratching the back of his head. He didn’t want to shut down conversation completely - he might learn something from somebody who had been out in the world more than he had - but he also didn’t want to betray the king.

“‘Doing  _ fine’ _ ?” Tommy chirped back at him. “Are you kidding me? He’s-” Tommy stopped suddenly as a hand touched his shoulder. Sir Phillip had caught up with them.

“Curb your tongue, Tommy,” Sir Phillip hissed. “There’s a time and a place.” He dropped his voice, speaking in a whisper that Wilbur could just barely hear. “Don’t make me send you back.”

“Yes, sir,” Tommy grumbled, hanging his head. Wilbur wanted to comfort the squire, but there was an itching feeling on his spine that he just couldn’t shake. Something was wrong here.

The two knights and their companions reached the doors to the Great Hall, which had been thrown open to reveal the hall in all its glory. Sir Carson and Sir Phillip entered first, then Wilbur and Tommy. Tommy flashed Wilbur a grin as they passed through the door frame.

The Great Hall was much in the same design as the throne room, but longer. The windows were all clear glass, flooding the hall with sunlight, though it was beginning to dim as the sun retreated to the horizon. Chandeliers flickered with tiny candles, awaiting the darkness of night. Two long wooden tables with benches had been prepared, leading up to the dais and the high table, behind which King Jordan, Sir Alexander, and Vice Taylor were deep in conversation. There weren’t many knights around yet, scattered across the room, but there was already a quiet din of speaking.

“We’ll see you around,” Sir Phillip said hurriedly, ushering Tommy away to the other table. Tommy looked back and gave Wilbur a small wave, which he returned.

“Where’s Schlatt?” Wilbur whispered out of the corner of his mouth, sweeping the room again but still coming up empty, no signs of white fur or black leather anywhere.

“I have no clue,” Sir Carson replied in an equally quiet voice. “I’m sure he’ll turn up soon. He doesn’t need us running after him.” The knight drummed his fingers on his other arm, a steady tap that slowly started driving Wilbur crazy.

“I can go look for him,” Wilbur offered, watching the steady stream of knights and squires enter the hall.

“I just said-” Sir Carson was interrupted by a crash, a horrible clang from the floor above. Both Wilbur and Sir Carson looked upwards and then to each other, before sprinting towards the door.

Wilbur followed Sir Carson down the hall and up the stairs, then down the hall again. There was another crash and Sir Carson changed direction, charging in the direction of the sound. “Come on!” Sir Carson exclaimed, and Wilbur tried to keep up.

At the end of the hall, Wilbur could see the familiar figure of Schlatt and an unfamiliar character, who Schlatt was currently holding against a broken window as if threatening to throw him out. As they approached, Wilbur noticed that Schlatt was bleeding from a wound on the back of his head and a cut on his side, but the knight just seemed a little banged up.

“What’s going on here?” Sir Carson demanded, and Schlatt promptly let go of the knight and let him fall to the floor of the hall. He scrambled to his feet and backed away from Schlatt, reaching for his sword.

“I found this- this  _ creature _ snooping around up here!” the other knight declared, pointing a finger at Schlatt accusingly. “And he won’t tell me what he was doing!”

“I was making my way down to the hall when I heard  _ him _ coming out of one of the rooms, and the next thing I knew, he pushed me into one of the tables,” Schlatt explained evenly. One of the tables was indeed broken on the ground nearby. 

“My name is Sir Jacob,” the knight explained, glancing from Schlatt to Sir Carson. “I’m sure you’d believe a knight over whatever  _ that _ is.” Wilbur recognized the name as one of the Crownguard, but this knight didn’t wear an orange cloak.

“On the contrary,” Sir Carson said, walking up to stand beside Schlatt. “I’ve known Schlatt for years and I trust him with my life.” He narrowed his eyes. “I advise that you run along before I give you a  _ real _ wound.”

Sir Jacob looked as if he had swallowed something sour, flipping his brown hair out of his face before fleeing down the hall.

“We have to get back,” Schlatt announced, narrowing his eyes. “There’s something suspicious going on here.” He touched the back of his head, where blood was trickling down from.

“Can I-” Wilbur reached out to help Schlatt’s wound, but Schlatt shrugged him off.

“Later. You two were supposed to be keeping an eye on King Jordan and the other knights,  _ weren’t _ you?” Schlatt said pointedly, looking directly at Sir Carson.

Sir Carson gulped. “This was a distraction, wasn’t it?” he cursed. “Let’s go,  _ quickly. _ ”

Wilbur took off down the hall, charging after Sir Carson and Schlatt. He was out of breath by the time they reached the Great Hall, where Sir Travis was waiting at the door.

“Where did you go?” Sir Travis hissed, seeming agitated.

“Schlatt was attacked,” Sir Carson replied instantly.

“There’s been a burglary,” Sir Travis pinched the bridge of his nose. “An old symbol of power. Not particularly valuable compared to some of the other items in the treasury, but sentimental for the monarchy nonetheless. We were… distracted by the crash. Sir Adam’s been injured - cut across his upper leg. He’ll survive, though, no matter how much he complains.”

“Why wasn’t it locked away in the vaults?” Sir Carson asked, cutting Wilbur off as he tried to speak.

“Out for repairs and refurbishing. Sir Adam and I were checking in on it,” Sir Travis glanced at Wilbur. “Were you going to say something?”

“Could I see Sir Adam? I might be able to help,” Wilbur asked, knotting his hands together.

“I’ll take you to him,” Sir Travis answered. “Sir Carson, Schlatt, stay here and act like nothing’s wrong, please, but keep an eye out for a short brunette, and probably whoever attacked Schlatt as well. It seems too coincidental that they should both strike at the same time.”

“Are you sure Sir Adam’s wound couldn’t just heal on its own?” Sir Carson asked, eyeing Wilbur and Sir Travis with slight suspicion.

“We need as many of us on our feet as possible, and at the moment Sir Adam can’t stand,” Sir Travis said pointedly. “Hold down the fort, please, Sir Carson.”

“We’ll keep an eye on things,” Schlatt assured Sir Travis, putting a hand on Sir Carson’s shoulder. “My assailant was named Sir Jacob, by the way.”

“Well, that’s not confusing at all,” Sir Travis pursed his lips. “I’ll see if it’s the same one that fought alongside Sir Joko in the war. They haven’t made contact for years.” Sir Travis tapped Wilbur’s arm. “Come along, Wilbur.”

“You Crownguard knights had better shape up quickly before the king loses his head due to your incompetence,” Sir Carson commented dryly as Sir Travis started to lead Wilbur away.

“With all due respect, Sir Carson, at least we have all of our hands,” Sir Travis replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 20 CHAPTERS!!! 50K WORDS!!! I AM VIBING, THIS IS AMAZING!!!  
> When I started this, I never thought I'd get this far. I've never written this much EVER, nevermind in three months!! Golden is the top story in almost every fandom/character tag it's in and I am SO honoured.  
> On another note, there will be more full POV chapters like this one going forward. There's a lot to talk about and the switching is a little confusing, after all. In the beginning, I just wanted to get everybody in the right places and the fastest way to do that was to switch POVs all the time to establish place, time, and character. Now that I've got all that, I can focus down into each storyline as they start to intersect.  
> Gosh, I'm so hyped for this story!!  
> Quick plug: follow my sideblog cyrus-crow on Tumblr for updates on the story and if you want to ask me questions!


	21. Charlie Accepts a Quid Pro Quo + Swagger and Fitz Work Out Their Differences (Violently)

“How much longer will you be staying, Charlie?” Charlie Soot asked, stabbing a leg of chicken with his fork and stealing it off of Jack’s plate. Jack glared at him and used his fork to flick peas into his brother’s face.

“Noah’s convinced me to stay until Mason’s back on his feet,” Charlie sighed, smothering his mashed potatoes in gravy and pressing it in as hard as he could. His brothers, had they been there, would have told him not to play with his food. He smiled inwardly at the thought of making them angry. “I don’t know why - it’s not like the Misfits will help us.”

“Why not?” Charlie retaliated by flicking a glob of mashed potatoes onto Jack’s hand. “It’s their fault Pyro got snatched, isn’t it?”

“Fitz is being a prick,” Charlie finally stopped picking at his food and started tearing into the chicken leg. “We don’t have anything to offer the Misfits, so they won’t help us. That’s just the kind of people they are… or at least, the kind of person their  _ leader _ is.” He recalled the look on Jay’s face when Fitz refused to help them. He hadn’t been able to read Swagger at all.

“The Blackthorns must have some kind of secret treasure vault that you could show them how to break into,” Dan put in. “Old valuable stuff, you know. I’m sure they’ve done heists before.”

“The last person to successfully rob the Blackthorn archival vaults was hunted down and killed the year my eldest brother was born,” Charlie shook his head. “And they were a Blackthorn, too, so they had the advantage of magic. The relic in question was destroyed in the fight. It would never work.”

“So? Convince them that it would, and then poof, the world’s down five bad guys,” Dan replied with a shrug. Matt cut in before he could go on.

“What did they steal?” Matt asked, leaning over the table. “And why would a Blackthorn steal some dusty old relic?”

“I… it was a mask,” Charlie answered, gripping his fork tightly. “It increased the wearer’s power tenfold. That kind of power would be enough to drive anybody to thievery, I think.” He tried to remember the illustrations he’d seen in books. “A really creepy-looking thing, too. All white with minimal features, and it only covered one side of the face. I always thought it looked like a marble statue.”

Matt said something else, but Charlie was worlds away. Talking about the mask again was making him think. Pyro’s kidnapper… hadn’t  _ they _ been wearing a mask like that?

Charlie dropped his fork, letting it clatter loudly against the plate. He looked down at his food, but he wasn’t hungry anymore. Charlie stood up, gripping the edge of the table and turning his knuckles white. “I-I have to go,” he stammered. “I need to talk to Noah.”

* * *

“You think some old dead guy has stolen your cousin?” Fitz asked dryly, folding his arms over his chest. Jay and Noah both looked as if they wanted to re-break Fitz’ nose.

“You weren’t exactly invited to this conversation,” Noah hissed. “So stand there and be quiet, or go away, you rotten snake.” Fitz looked as if he’d swallowed a frog.

“It’s the only lead we have, no matter how stupid you might think it is,” Charlie replied, keeping his voice light as he rolled out a map of Cypress onto the table. He, Noah, Fitz, and Jay were huddled in Noah’s room at the tavern because it was the biggest place they could find. Matt had wanted to come as well, but Pokay had insisted he keep off his leg as much as possible. Swagger had stayed behind with him and Mason. “At the very least, our man’s wearing a mask similar to the one that was stolen from the Blackthorn vaults twenty-eight years ago. That makes them identifiable.”

“I can pull some strings; I work for the White Rose and have done for quite a while. I’ve got a reputation.” Noah glanced at the representing members of the Misfits. “But I can’t cover everything.”

Fitz tapped his foot repeatedly on the floorboards. “With our help, you’d have your man in a month, tops. Maybe even a week, depending on how much effort I want to put in.”

“What’s your deal?” Charlie asked, looking over at him. “I don’t have money.”

“Here’s my offer,” Fitz said, tapping his chin. “We help you get your cousin back. We steal the money we’re owed from the creepy mask guy. And… we get the mask.”

Charlie exchanged a look with Noah. It was a better offer than they had five minutes ago when Fitz was still being as stubborn as ever.

“I think…” Noah started before Charlie cut him off.

“That mask was created by a Blackthorn, it belongs to me and my family by right,” Charlie pointed out, narrowing his eyes.

“You were disowned, weren’t you?” Fitz cocked an eyebrow, crossing his arms in a defiant pose.

“I want to talk to Noah. Privately,” Charlie added, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “Get out. Both of you.” He tried to make it sound lighter, but it just came across as hostile. Charlie didn’t care. Frankly, he wasn’t fussy about whether the Misfits liked him or not.

Fitz just rolled his eyes and walked out, while Jay looked mildly hurt. Charlie instantly felt bad. Maybe he didn’t care what most of the Misfits thought, but he’d fought alongside Jay, after all. Jay had never done anything directly to him - neither had any of them, really. Swagger had even saved his life.

“Charlie, you know we’re in no position to decline,” Noah whispered hurriedly as soon as Jay and Fitz were gone. “An old mercenary and a child with slime powers are not exactly the most threatening duo.” Charlie tried not to feel offended that Noah called him a child.

“You’re not  _ that _ old,” Charlie replied pointedly. “You elbowed Fitz in the face earlier, which he probably hasn’t forgotten about. That surely counts for something.”

Noah pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I’m a lot older than you or Fitz is my point. I’m sure I’ll start growing grey hairs in a couple of years or so. My brother and I have a bet.” Noah waved his hand dismissively. “Anyway, that’s not- we have to accept their deal, Charlie.”

“I don’t want to be forced into a quid pro quo!” Charlie exclaimed before Noah slapped his hand over Charlie’s mouth and hissed at him to be quiet. “Sorry. I don’t want to be forced into a quid pro quo,” he repeated, quietly.

“You’re not being forced into anything,” Noah whispered. “I never said we actually had to  _ give _ them the mask after they were done helping us. Distract them with the money, nab Pyro, and split.” The smallest of smiles spread across Noah’s face. “I’ve vanished before, I can do it again. You were going to have to disappear anyway.” Noah hesitated. “I was supposed to help you.”

“Help me?” Charlie repeated, taken aback.

“Pyro… hired me… to help you fake your death, disappear, and then escort you to meet your cousin in Irys. I may have… neglected to mention that part,” Noah admitted, grimacing. “To be fair, we were all a little distracted with the kidnapping and everything. Still, it’s my fault Condi caught up to you.” Noah scratched the back of his head.

“Don’t be stupid, you didn’t even know me before a couple of days ago,” Charlie insisted. “You’re saying that we should cheat a notorious band of thieves out of the most powerful relic they’ve seen in their entire lives?” 

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, Charlie,” Noah replied, with a glance at the door. “We just have to outsmart them.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Charlie scoffed. “Fitz’ so sour his brain is probably pickled by now.”

“That’s… not how you make pickles,” Noah pointed out. “Besides, I wouldn’t put it past them to try to cheat  _ us _ first.”

“At least it’s a plan,” Charlie said. “If you’re confident we can pull this off…”

Noah pursed his lips. “I’m not exactly confident, more… hopeful.”

“We’re staking Pyro’s life and possibly ours on  _ hope _ ?” Charlie asked, leaning back against the table.

“If you have a better idea, I’m just dying to hear it,” Noah replied dryly. “Or else I’m going to open that door and tell Fitz and his merry band of rogues that we accept their deal.” Noah gestured to the door.

“Open it,” Charlie sighed. “I don’t think we have any other choice.”

* * *

Swagger approached the wagon, where he could hear the thumps of somebody throwing things around inside the carriage. “The doctor says that Mason will be ready to head out tomorrow,” he called, leaning against the edge of the wood. “They managed to stop the infection in Matt’s leg as well, and he’s looking a lot better. Much less pale. Doctor Kay certainly lives up to his reputation, hm?”

Swagger paused momentarily, waiting for a reply. When he didn’t get one, he continued. “Charlie’s still not happy about working with us. I suppose that’s justified - after all, we did kidnap his cousin. Noah seems content enough, but he’s in our line of work. Not as centre-stage, though. More of an odd job kind of man. He seems well-off, though, so he doesn’t work for the White Rose because he needs the money. A rebellious streak, perhaps?”

Fitz emerged from the carriage, wiping grit from his hands with a handkerchief that was yellowing with age and overuse. He spat on the ground and leaned against the doorframe. “If that’s all…” he prompted tersely, shoving the cloth into the pocket of his long coat.

“Something bothering you?” Swagger asked nonchalantly, reaching up beneath his helmet to wipe away a bead of sweat. Days and nights were getting hotter as time crept slowly on towards summer. “You know you can always-”

“You’re the  _ last _ person I’d talk to,” Fitz grumbled. “Were you a priest before you got lumped in with this lot? All holier-than-thou… you’d make a good one if you ever thought for a change of career.” Fitz huffed and sat down on the bumper, crossing his arms out of what Swagger was beginning to assume was now a habit. Swagger wished he’d weeded out some of Fitz’ habits before they had become problems - and not the arm-crossing. The sharp defensiveness and the unwillingness to care, for starters.

Swagger felt annoyance start to trickle into the back of his cortex. “There’s no need for that,” he hearkened defensively, trying to deflect the situation before it got out of his hands. Despite not being Swagger’s real son, it seemed as if Fitz had inherited Swagger’s old temper, and the two of them at odds wouldn’t end well.

“No need for what?” Fitz leaned out and Swagger noticed a bottle of whiskey sitting just inside the carriage. Swagger suppressed a sigh. “Got something you’d like to say, you old fool?” Fitz taunted.

“Nothing you’d like to hear,” Swagger retorted offhandedly.

“Everything that comes out of your mouth makes me want to puke,” Fitz groaned, glaring sideways at the knight.

  
“Actually, I think that might be the alcohol,” Swagger put in. “How much have you had?” His forehead creased in concern and he tilted his head slightly, indicating the question.

“Don’t start,” Fitz spat. “When will you learn to stop treating me like your kid?” Fitz hopped down from the carriage and took one step towards Swagger, closing the gap. He grabbed the front of Swagger’s armour and shook him. “ _ I _ am  _ not _ your son.”

Swagger let Fitz shake him, not willing to retaliate physically. Fitz was right; Swagger was still treating him like a child. It was difficult not to, seeing as Swagger practically raised Fitz by himself. But if Fitz didn’t want to be coddled, Swagger would oblige.

“You’re right,” Swagger murmured. “You’re not my son. And you know what?” He looked up and met Fitz’ gaze with a hard stare. “I’m  _ glad _ you’re not my son.” Fitz flinched back as if Swagger had just slapped him across the face. “I would be disappointed if a son of mine turned out like you. A coward and a bully, that’s all you are. You don’t care about anybody that doesn’t bear your name.”

“You take that  _ back, _ ” Fitz hissed, shaking Swagger roughly. “I’m doing the right thing, for the benefit of the group! We need to survive, in case you’d forgotten.”

“No.” Swagger hesitated. “You’re doing it for yourself.”

Fitz threw Swagger back and let go, his hand twitching to the long knife on his belt. “You’re a traitor to the Misfits! All you’ve ever wanted is the leadership back!” Fitz accused, pointing the blade at Swagger’s face.

“If I’d wanted it, why did I hand it over to a fifteen-year-old?” Swagger replied, adjusting his helmet so that he could see properly again. “I don’t want to fight you, Fitz,” he said, but he rested his hand on the hilt of his sword anyway. He preferred a bow, but it was laying inside the carriage.

“Too bad!” Fitz declared, leaping forward. He stabbed out with the knife and by some miracle, it bounced off the helmet just a few ticks short of Swagger’s right eye. Swagger drew his sword, his body realizing before his brain did that Fitz intended to kill him.

“Fitz, stop, just think about what you’re doing!” Swagger exclaimed as Fitz drew his second knife. Swagger raised his sword and parried twin slashing blows, the clangs ringing loudly in the night air. Stars gazed down, unwavering, as two old allies traded vicious attacks.

Fitz pressed Swagger back with a couple feinting slashes, then caught his sword in a cross between his knives. Fitz leaned forward and spat, “Fight back, or we’ll see who’s the real coward.” He then landed a glancing blow on Swagger’s left shoulder.

Blood was pounding in Swagger’s ears. He had to fight. But he wouldn’t kill Fitz. Fitz was only eighteen, after all. A hotheaded teenager. Even if he wouldn’t let Swagger remind him of it. “Fine, then,” Swagger growled, shifting his two-handed grip on his blade.

Years of training kicked in and Swagger moved onto the offensive, making hard and heavy attacks that drove Fitz back. Then, when Fitz’ blades were raised over his head to block a downward slash from Swagger, Swagger planted a strong, fierce kick into the middle of his chest and sent him sprawling into the mud. The rain had started coming down during the fight, so the mud was fresh, and quickly caked to Fitz’ leather armour.

Swagger rushed forward, resting his sword at Fitz’ neck as Fitz tried to catch his breath. “Concede,” Swagger demanded, his shoulders heaving. He hadn’t fought for his life like this in years. Sure, there had been spats with law enforcement and other bandits, and the fight with Condifiction, but nobody had challenged him on equal footing since his army days. He’d trained Fitz too well.

“If you believe I’d give up, you’re even more senile than I thought,” Fitz replied, his words a sinister hiss through his teeth. Then Fitz rolled over and jumped to his feet, before making a dive towards Swagger’s stomach with one knife outstretched and the other ready to parry.

Swagger knocked Fitz’ first knife down, but couldn’t block the other one in time. It slashed across his upper leg, leaving a stinging gash on his inner thigh. Swagger flinched in pain and retaliated, matching the wound on his shoulder with a cut to Fitz’ left. Swagger was better with double blades, but he’d given his to Fitz. Swagger cursed himself.

Back and forth, Swagger and Fitz traded and matched blows, struggling to keep any advantage. Swagger couldn’t find any fatal chinks in Fitz’ armour, but he was reassured by the fact that Fitz didn’t seem to be able to find any in his. At least Swagger wouldn’t kill Fitz. Swagger wasn’t sure he could say the same about Fitz.

The fight ended when Fitz swept Swagger’s legs and hit him in the head with the hilt of his sword at the same time. Swagger crashed to the ground and his helmet landed a few lengths away. The rain hit Swagger’s face for the first time in years and he almost gasped. He tried to get up, but he was battered and bloody and found it difficult.

Fitz staggered and dropped one of his knives, stumbling to the carriage and leaning against it. He seemed in just as bad shape as Swagger, though he refused to look at the knight.  _ Understandable. I don’t want to look at myself either. I can’t imagine I’ve aged well, _ Swagger thought.

Swagger got to his knees and stretched out, clutching the helmet in his hands. He wiped some mud from the rim and placed it back on his head, making sure it was straight. Then, he used his sword and struggled to his feet. He heard a strangled choking sound and started, thinking that it was a wild animal or somebody in trouble.

Then he saw Fitz and realized that he was crying.

“I’m sorry,” Fitz gasped, pulling his bandana up to cover his face. “I-I’m really- I don’t-”

“You need to see a doctor,” Swagger insisted gently. “Come with me.” Swagger extended his arm to help Fitz walk. There was a nasty cut on the back of Fitz’ calf and Swagger wondered vaguely, _ Did I do that? _

Fitz didn’t say anything more, but reached out and grabbed Swagger’s forearm. Swagger steadied him and asked, “Can you walk?”

Fitz nodded. Then he admitted softly, “I’ve been such a fool.”

“We’ll tell the others that we ran into a pair of dire wolves,” Swagger decided, helping Fitz stumble back towards town. Their wagon was tied by the outskirts, where they couldn’t be overheard. “Nobody needs to know that you tried to kill me.”

“I would say that I wouldn’t have actually killed you, but the truth is… I don’t know,” Fitz mumbled. “Two eyes, and I still can’t see anything.” Fitz glanced at Swagger’s helmet as if remembering the face beneath it. “I guess I know now why you’re so… like that. What happened?”

“It was a long time ago,” Swagger replied vaguely. “A traitor’s punishment.” Swagger could see Fitz fighting with himself to ask more questions. “I’ll explain everything one day. But for now, you’re in worse shape than I am. Let’s get you to Pokay, alright?”

Fitz paled and tightened his grip on Swagger’s arm, just proving Swagger’s point. “Yeah… yeah, it’s not far. I can make it,” Fitz insisted, stubborn as always.

“I’m sorry for doing this to you,” Swagger said, gesturing to Fitz’ wounds.

“Don’t be,” Fitz grunted. A small smile spread across his face. “It was about time somebody knocked some sense into me.”

“Glad to know you’re back,” Swagger returned the smile, finding it hard not to. “I was getting tired of arguing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOSH FITZ HAS FINALLY REALIZED THAT HE'S BEEN SUCH A JERK HALLELUJAH  
> I actually had a LOT of fun writing this chapter, the snappy lines in this one are some of my favourites and the fight scene was just *chef's kiss*  
> ...back to Cooper next chapter, perhaps? I haven't quite decided yet, but our fish prince has been missing the spotlight for a little while now...


	22. Cooper Finds a House (But is it Home?)

Cooper shivered. The surface world was colder than he’d imagined - underwater, where everywhere, especially the palace and high city, was heated by huge deep-sea vents, there wasn’t much ability to be cold, and he was able to wear capris and a t-shirt that stretched to just above his elbows. Yes, he’d thought he was cold before, but it was nothing close to the bitter bite of the wind against his bare skin. It had been late spring underwater and he suspected it was the same here - he’d learned in school that they had the same seasons - but it felt nothing like spring to him. Oh, and there was the fact that he wasn’t wearing any shoes.

Cooper trudged along the cobbled road, pulling a tattered blanket he’d found along the path tighter around his shoulders. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking for, and he was surprised when nobody gave him a second glance. He didn’t see any merfolk around, but he vaguely recalled that there were trade deals around the coast. Maybe he wasn’t as much of a stranger as he thought he was.

Cooper shuffled into an alleyway, letting horse-drawn carriages fly by. He was trying to wrack his brain for information about the western coast - he was sure that his grandfather had talked about a Lord Caldwell, but he couldn’t think of anything else. He was now realizing how downright foolish his plan had been, but it was too late to turn back.

Cooper ran his hand over the delicate frill on his head and slumped against the wall. He sighed. “This is what I get,” he muttered. “This was a stupid plan, a stupid, stupid-” Cooper banged his head back against the wall with each ‘stupid’. “-stupid, stupid, stupid plan.”

Footsteps at the end of the alley stirred Cooper from his thoughts, and a plainly-dressed person declared, “Odd to see one of your kind here right now. There’s usually a little forewarning from the High Counsellor when-”

“I’m not here on orders,” Cooper interrupted, getting to his feet. “I’m not a criminal, either. I just… needed a change of scenery,” he finished weakly.

The figure shrugged. “Understandable. I know a place you can stay if you’re willing to come with me. Lord Caldwell frequently opens his doors to anybody that needs a bed and a hot meal.”

“I- yeah, that would be great, thanks,” Cooper stammered. “What’s your name? I’m Cooper.”

The figure cocked an eyebrow. “Prince Cooper? It’s an honour. I’m Tanner.” Tanner held out a hand to shake, which Cooper obliged. “Follow me.” Tanner beckoned with one hand and strode briskly out of the alley, heading up the side of the main road.

“What do you do, Tanner?” Cooper asked, hurrying to keep pace.

“Oh, you know, this and that,” he answered, waving a hand dismissively. “I hang around Lord Caldwell’s manor and fix things up now and then.”

Cooper frowned. There was something suspicious about Tanner, but he wasn’t willing to question it. He wasn’t sure where the lord and lady lived, but Tanner seemed to, charging up the street as he was.

“We’ll be there soon,” Tanner promised. “Lord Caldwell likes to stay close to his subjects. He’s a charitable man.” Tanner adjusted his loose leather coat and continued up the hill, pausing on the top of the rise. Cooper halted, trying to catch his breath. He wasn’t used to walking.

Tanner pushed open the gate and started down a short lane to the drive, and Cooper followed tentatively. “And you’re sure Lord Caldwell will let me stay?” Cooper asked, calling after Tanner with unsurety.

“Of course!” Tanner called back, stepping up to the front door. “Come along, Prince Cooper.” He gestured to the door.

“Just Cooper’s fine,” Cooper said hurriedly. “I never wanted to be a prince.”

Tanner cracked a small, wise smile. “I understand completely,” he inclined his head. “Cooper, then.”

Cooper hopped up the steps and grasped the knocker on the door. With a glance at Tanner, he lifted it and let it fall three times. It was quickly opened from the other side by a page in simple, yet tidy, dress, who looked from Cooper to Tanner and back again.

“Who is-” the page started, before Tanner interrupted.

“Prince Cooper of the merfolk,” Tanner looked over at Cooper. “Grandson of High Counsellor Allon, I presume?”

“You presume correctly,” Cooper confirmed, though he wasn’t happy about it.

The page seemed relieved. “Visiting royalty,” he sighed. “For a moment I thought you’d pulled in another vagrant from the streets, my lord.”

Cooper was confused. He glanced at Tanner, who shifted the collar of his coat and raised his chin.

“There’s nothing wrong with offering charity to those who need it,” Tanner replied evenly. “I’d better get changed while you show Cooper to a room. Preferably one that fits his status, Al.” Tanner stepped inside and gestured for Cooper to follow.

“Of course, my lord,” the page - Al - said. “I apologize for my comment about those in need. Just a slip of the tongue.” Al seemed sincere, which reassured Cooper that he was safe. He was beginning to put the pieces together.

“You’re Lord Caldwell, aren’t you?” Cooper asked, turning to the one that had introduced himself as Tanner. “Lord Caldwell  _ Tanner _ . It’s your last name.”

Lord Caldwell smiled. “You’d be surprised how many people don’t pick up on that fact,” he said cheerfully. “Just Caldwell is alright. I’m like you - not a big fan of titles. That’s why I spend so much time dressed like this and interacting with the people I’m supposed to be ruling over. I know most of them better than anybody, and it means I can help my people better.”

“I thought King Jordan-” Cooper started before Caldwell cut him off.

“Cypress is much too big for one person to reside over everywhere,” Caldwell informed him. “Irys is the only place under King Jordan’s direct supervision. Everywhere else is deferred to a lord like myself. My jurisdiction technically stretches down the entire west coast, but I’ve broken off bits and pieces to other people that I trust. Any big issues still go through me, but little things can be handled by them. My wife spends most of her time up in the north, and no, despite the rumours, we are not estranged.” Caldwell clapped his hands together and declared, “I’ll rejoin you two for lunch in a half hour. Please, go about it.”

Caldwell disappeared into one of the many hallways, leaving Cooper and the page alone in the foyer.

Al extended a hand for Cooper to shake. “I’m Altrive. Caldwell calls me Al, and you can do the same if you want.” Altrive turned toward the main stairwell and started to ascend, gesturing for Cooper to come with him. “What brings you here, Prince Cooper?”

“Ah, just Cooper,” Cooper corrected, following Altrive up the stairs. “I needed a change of pace. Change of scenery. My grandfather is rather… controlling.” He paused. “Altrive is a funny name.”

“Only name I’ve ever had,” Altrive reached the top of the stairs and turned to the right, leading Cooper to a hall of guestrooms. “I’m an orphan, you see. I don’t remember where Altrive came from, only that it’s my name and always has been.” Altrive glanced at him, questions clearly burning.

“Before you ask, my grandfather is the only family that I have left,” Cooper pressed his hands together as if trying to stabilize himself. “My parents died a year ago during a battle.”

“Oh,” Altrive replied. “I’m sorry for your loss.” The young boy stopped in front of one of the doors and retrieved a ring of keys from his pocket. He inserted one into the lock, before pushing it open. He then put the keys back into his pocket and stepped aside to let Cooper in.

The room was lavish, but differently than the coral-carved rooms back home. The bed was open, not tucked inside a shell, which was strange to him, though perhaps the strangest was that everything was made out of wood. He’d noticed it when he came into the manor but hadn’t had time to note it. Wood didn’t survive underwater, so though he’d seen driftwood before, it was never used to build. The whole room was themed in warm colours, starkly contrasting the blue, purple, and green of Cooper’s home. It just served to remind him how far from the Ocean Kingdoms he was… even though he was merely a day’s travel away.

“Make yourself at home, Pri-  _ Cooper, _ ” Altrive quickly corrected himself. “I’ll come fetch you in a half-hour for lunch if you wish to join us.” Cooper didn’t have the heart to tell Altrive that he’d have a hard time making himself at home in such a strange place.

“Yes, I do,” Cooper answered quietly, taking a few steps into the room. “I don’t suppose there are any human clothes in that closet? I’m severely underprepared for this weather.” The blanket had fallen from his shoulders somewhere on his way to the room and now he was shivering again, even though it was warmer inside.

“There are,” Altrive nodded to the closet. “Wear anything you’d like. It’s all for guests, courtesy of Lord Caldwell.” Altrive inclined his head respectfully to the prince and retreated from the room, closing the door behind him.

Cooper crossed to the closet and quickly flung it open. There was a great selection of clothes inside, mostly in the same warm colours that Cooper was finding less and less attractive by the second. There did happen to be a few selections in white and black, so Cooper grabbed a long-sleeved white tunic and black breeches, along with a leather coat that fell to just past his waist.

Once he had changed, no longer shivering, Cooper lay down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He was surprised when the mattress sunk under his weight and almost jumped up again, but it ended up being too comfortable and he stayed. Cooper buttoned up the coat and rolled over. Soon enough, Cooper drifted off to sleep.

When Cooper jolted awake to a knock at the door about twenty minutes later, he wasn’t sure why he was startled. Then he realized - he hadn’t had a dream. No nightmares, nothing at all. Cooper leapt from the bed and went to the door, which he opened to find Altrive.

“Lunch,” Altrive chirped, and Cooper stepped out to join him in the hallway. Altrive looked the merfolk prince up and down before commenting, “You look sharp.”

Cooper fixed his buttons and replied, “I don’t think it suits me.”

“Then we’ll have to let Lord Caldwell decide,” Altrive smiled. “I trust that you don’t want to be late for lunch with the Lord of the Western Coast, now, do you, Cooper?” Cooper could read the humour in Altrive’s eyes as he perched by the bannister.

“Of course not,” Cooper said with equal humourous exaggeration, complete with a wink. “Lead the way, Altrive.” He gestured to the stairway.

Altrive guided Cooper down the stairs and through the winding halls until they eventually arrived at a moderately-sized dining room. Caldwell hadn’t appeared, but covered plates already dotted the middle of the table. Altrive sat down on the left side of the head chair, which Cooper thought was odd, but he took a seat on the right side of the head anyway.

“I thought you were a page,” Cooper asked, tapping his fork absentmindedly. “I don’t mean any offence by this, but where I come from, pages don’t usually attend meals with nobility. It’s just… custom.”

“It’s custom here too,” Altrive grinned, not seeming offended at all. “But Lord Caldwell isn’t very fond of customs. He doesn’t see any reason to halt pleasant conversation around the dinner table, whether it be with nobility or pages.” Altrive waved his hand around, punctuating his words.

“Sorry that I’m late!” Caldwell called, charging dramatically into the room. He stopped behind the head chair and nodded to Cooper, then Altrive. “I made some last-minute changes to the menu after digging out a dusty old book on merfolk dining habits that somebody gifted to me a long time ago. We were going to have pork and I realized that I’d better check if merfolk eat pork, which they don’t, so I’m glad I checked.”

“Yes, merfolk are insectarian,” Cooper confirmed, with a glance at Altrive. He didn’t seem to understand, so Cooper clarified. “We don’t eat meat, that is, though we do eat insects. Mostly snails. Though I’m particularly fond of cockroaches.”

Caldwell disguised an unbidden noise of disgust as a cough, while Altrive grimaced. Caldwell swallowed, put on a thin smile, and took his seat.

“We don’t, ah, eat insects in Cypress, so I just made the meal vegetarian,” Caldwell explained. “Vegetable stew with fresh rolls. There would have been more, but it was short notice, so you’ll just have to take more than one helping.”

“Do you have a cook?” Cooper asked, lifting the lid from the stew pot and taking the ladle that Altrive handed to him. He scooped some of the stew into his bowl and passed the ladle to Caldwell.

“Not anymore,” Caldwell admitted. “Altrive and I take turns. It’s only the two of us here, after all. If we have a guest for long enough, sometimes we’ll slip them in the rotation as well.”

“I don’t think you want me cooking now that you’ve heard about my eating habits,” Cooper joked, to which Caldwell and Altrive both snickered.

“The guests in question stayed for a  _ very _ long time,” Altrive put in. “A year at least. Most people come and go on a weekly or daily basis.”

“You just let people… stay? For as long as they want?” Cooper questioned, gesturing with his spoon. He was tentative to start eating, but probably not for much longer. He was starving, and that would soon overcome his distrust of Caldwell’s (or Altrive’s) cooking.

“Of course,” Caldwell answered with a shrug, tucking his napkin into the front of his shirt. Cooper recalled him saying that he was going to get changed, though he didn’t seem very changed, just a little more tidy than before. “Enough chit-chat, eat up!”

Cooper looked down at his stew and realized that the smell was making his stomach growl. He stopped using his spoon to point at things and dug in, surprised at how good it was. After a few spoonfuls, he stopped and asked, “Who cooked tonight?”

“I did,” Caldwell answered, sounding slightly embarrassed about it. “My wife taught me how quite a while ago and I enjoyed cooking. Then I taught Altrive when he came along.”

“Technically, I’m just one of Lord Caldwell’s boarders,” Altrive admitted. “I’ve been staying here since I was ten years old, though, longer than anybody else. I figured I should help out.”

“Your help is very welcome,” Caldwell nodded to Altrive. “One rich boy like me can’t take care of a huge place like this. I barely knew how to work a feather duster when we met.” Caldwell looked back over at Cooper. “Cobwebs everywhere! This place was a disaster.”

“You do your own cleaning?” Cooper blinked. Caldwell was unlike any nobility he’d ever met before.

“Gives me something to do,” Caldwell shrugged. “There aren’t many affairs to attend to and I always come back here when the sun goes down. I don’t sleep easily these days, so cleaning lets me keep busy in the late evening.”

“I don’t sleep easily either,” Cooper said, then remembered his nap. “At least, I didn’t when I was at home. That’s the real reason I came here. I thought…” it sounded foolish, to say it out loud. “I thought that being away from all the memories would ease my dreams.” He looked down at his soup. “It sounds stupid.”

Cooper was surprised when Caldwell reached over and put a hand on his shoulder, the gesture reassuring. “You forget that we’re only eighteen years out of a war,” Caldwell murmured. “Plenty of trauma in this country. I’ve seen my fair share of former soldiers come through here, each searching the same thing as you. Peace.” Caldwell squeezed Cooper’s shoulder and let go. “May I ask what causes the nightmares?”

Cooper’s fingers tightened around his spoon, turning his knuckles white. “My parents died during an attack a year ago, right in front of me,” he whispered, only audible because neither Altrive nor Caldwell made a sound.

“You poor boy,” Caldwell’s face softened. “Cyrian doctors are very experienced with this sort of thing. Perhaps tomorrow you’d like to visit one? It’s worth a shot.”

“I…” Cooper saved himself from answering immediately by shovelling another large spoonful of stew into his mouth. He chewed on the vegetables for as long as he could, thinking fast. “Yes. I’d appreciate that, Caldwell.”

“In the meantime, I hope you sleep well tonight,” Caldwell smiled kindly, then turned to the page. “Altrive, please delay my ride to the capital until tomorrow afternoon.”

“King Jordan won’t be happy that you missed the opening ceremonies, my lord,” Altrive replied, dabbing his face with a napkin.

“Oh, pish. Drop the formalities, Altrive,  _ please. _ I’m sure King Jordan will understand that I have a guest that I want to escort to the best doctor in town,” Caldwell waved a hand dismissively.

“You don’t need to-” Cooper started before Altrive cut him off.

“Don’t try to stop him. He likes taking care of people. It’s his hobby,” Altrive explained, while Caldwell finished his soup. “Not the worst hobby in the world, I think.”

Caldwell smiled. “I feel like I should be offended that Altrive just explained me to you,” Caldwell joked, looking at Cooper, “but I’m not. Yes, it’s a bit of a hobby, and if you refuse I’ll just follow you anyway to make sure that you’re alright.”

Cooper was momentarily stunned. Even his parents hadn’t been so… protective. Was that the right word? Cooper wasn’t sure how to describe Caldwell’s ‘hobby’. Altruistic?

“Of course, if you’re uncomfortable, I’ll leave you alone,” Caldwell hurried on, and Cooper realized that his silence had made Caldwell worry.

“No, it’s okay, I’m sorry,” Cooper insisted. “I got lost in my thoughts for a second. You’re very generous, Caldwell, and if you insist on coming with me,” Cooper smiled, “I guess I can’t refuse.”

Caldwell clapped his hands together. “That’s the spirit!” he cried. “Now, who’s up for a game?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *claps hands together* yay!! More characters!! I've never really watched much Altrive (I've seen stuff that he was in before but nothing actually from his channel) so I hope I did him justice? And I just love Caldwell Tanner from Drawga, he's such a good DM and such a pure, nice guy. Caldwell and Altrive have such a great dynamic in this,, new BROTP.  
> And also Cooper gets his first full chapter to himself!! Our boy's becoming a main character... *wipes away tears*  
> I think we'll be heading back to Irys next chapter to check in on Wilbur, Travis, Schlatt, and Carson! There's quite a lot going on there...


	23. Wilbur Bounces Around Topics Like a Ping-Pong Ball

Wilbur slumped against his chair. It didn’t help that Sir Adam’s wound was in an awkward spot, nor that it was a big cut. He was sure he was going to pass out when he was done, but it would be worth it. If Sir Carson and Schlatt’s suspicions were correct, there would be an attempt on King Jordan’s life that night. A Crownguard knight was far more useful than an inexperienced bard.

Wilbur reached over again and forced his focus, watching as one end started to close itself up. Sir Adam flinched on the table and Sir Travis reached out to grab his shoulder and steady him.

“You’re going to be okay, Sky,” Sir Travis said, though it sounded more like he was reassuring himself than the unconscious knight.

“Sky?” Wilbur questioned, a bead of sweat trickling down his brow. He lost focus and jolted back.

“It’s a nickname,” Sir Travis explained hurriedly. “From his last name - Goldensky.” Then his eyes narrowed. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Wilbur answered. “I have to get this done. This cut is deep and will turn nasty easily.” Wilbur looked up at Sir Travis. “You can go back, King Jordan needs as many of you as possible.”

Sir Travis looked back at the two yellow-cloaked guards flanking the door and the regular doctor overseeing, hesitated, then said, “Yes, I suppose you’re right. If anything happens, send for me.” Sir Travis got up from where he had been kneeling and went over to the door, where he paused and looked back. “Good luck, Wilbur,” he murmured before leaving.

Wilbur thought he would be less stressed without Sir Travis, whom he valued as a friend, watching over him, but that didn’t seem to be the case. It was slow going, stitching up Sir Adam’s wound, but he was reassured when it left no mark on Sir Adam’s leg. The doctor, whose name Wilbur hadn’t caught, seemed mildly impressed as well.

Wilbur fell back into his chair, his vision swimming before him. The doctor set about getting Sir Adam awake again while Wilbur steadied himself, completely drained. He then realized that somebody had been talking to him.

“Pardon?” Wilbur said, blinking. His vision cleared momentarily but soon went fuzzy again.

“I asked if you were okay. You’re looking a little pale,” the doctor said.

“I’ll be fine. I need some air. Just get Sir Adam back to the king,” Wilbur muttered, dragging himself out of his chair. Despite the doctor trying to stop him and his body feeling like somebody had run it over with a horse-cart, Wilbur fled down the hall and out into the courtyard. There, he collapsed into a clean haystack by the stables.

“You’re looking a little worse for wear,” a familiar voice that Wilbur hadn’t heard in a while commented.

“Ted!” Wilbur looked over to see the white stallion (or the white blur, as his eyes were determined to convince him it was) peering over the low wooden wall at him. “Uh- yeah, Sir Adam had a bad cut on his leg and I offered to help.”

“You’ve been a bard for, what, a week and a half? At most?” Ted snorted. “It was brave of you to try to help like that, but a little less luck and you could have spontaneously combusted.”

Wilbur shuddered. “You’re serious?” he questioned, trying to force Ted’s face into focus. The horse’s voice  _ sounded _ serious, anyway.

“Completely,” Ted answered evenly. “If I had hands, I’d offer you some water, but sadly I only have hooves. Maybe if Milo and I work together…” he trailed off, sounding pensive.

Perhaps it was seeing Ted again after what felt like so long, or Wilbur’s foggy mind, but Ted’s words gave light to a question Wilbur had forgotten about. “Ted… have you ever heard of Sir Theodore? I don’t know his last name.”

Ted fell silent. “No, I don’t think so,” Ted replied. “Why do you ask, Wilbur?” The horse seemed genuinely confused.

“He… went missing near the beginning of the war,” Wilbur explained, a nagging feeling in the back of his mind. “Nobody knows what happened to him. I thought you might have been named after him…” Wilbur trailed off, realistic how dumb he may sound.

Ted shook his head. “Sorry, Carson’s never mentioned Sir Theodore. Went missing, you said? With Windwing magic… he could be anywhere, anybody, with no memory of his past life.” Something seemed to dawn on Ted as he spoke, and he let out a soft ‘oh’.

“What?” Wilbur asked, sitting up. “Do you know anything else?”

“Wilbur, we’re both fools,” Ted looked down at his hooves. “A horse named Ted, who only clearly remembers the last twenty-two or so years? Horses only live until they’re about thirty, so how am I still so able? I vaguely remember my childhood, but it could have easily been crafted magically.”

“Are you saying that you’re-” Wilbur started.

“Possibly Sir Theodore, yes,” Ted sighed. “Sadly, we’re almost in the midst of a civil war, so it’s not the time to go chasing mages around the kingdom to try to undo a curse that may or may not exist. I don’t know how we could-” Ted cut off as his eyes widened. “Wilbur.”

“Yes?” Wilbur asked, getting more confused by the second. “Ted, I’m completely lost.”

“Your dream-walking! Maybe  _ you _ can find memories that belong to Sir Theodore in my head if they’re there!” Ted exclaimed, leaning over the wall. “Of course, we have no guarantee that it would work, and you’re  _ incredibly _ inexperienced.”

“Ted, I don’t even know how to  _ voluntarily _ dream-walk, nevermind dig around in your memories,” Wilbur shook his head. “I’m sorry. Maybe… maybe there’s another way to find clues.”

Ted looked slightly crestfallen, and Wilbur realized that his vision had stopped swimming. “Well, like I said, almost in a civil war,” Ted said, attempting to sound cheery. “It’s not the best time anyway.” Ted narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you have a banquet to be attending?”

Wilbur leapt to his feet as if he’d been hit by lightning. “Yes! Oh gods, I’d completely forgotten.” Wilbur paled. “Do you think King Jordan has noticed that I’m missing? I did mention that his majesty  _ knows who I am, _ right?” Wilbur ran a hand through his hair, suddenly anxious. “I need to get back.”

Ted whinnied a laugh. “Ah, young heroes, always so modest and overwhelmed,” Ted winked at him. “Don’t worry, Carson was the same when he was your age. Get going, kid.” The stallion bopped the back of Wilbur’s head with his snout and Wilbur bolted for the door. “Come back later and tell me everything!”

Wilbur intended to call back, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. He dashed through the halls, searching for the huge doors of the Great Hall, which were not difficult to find. The doors were flung wide and he hurried inside, relieved to see the party in full swing. Nobody would notice him slipping in.

First Wilbur spotted Schlatt’s horns over the crowd, then he saw the goat demon’s face. At over seven feet tall, Schlatt was easy to pick out in a group of people. Wilbur pushed by a group of knights and was almost to Sir Carson and Schlatt when somebody caught his elbow.

“Wilbur!” Tommy hissed, gesturing with his head to the wall. “Over here!”

Wilbur let Tommy drag him over to the wall before demanding, “What’s wrong, Tommy?”

“Be  _ careful, _ Wilbur,” Tommy spat, his brow furrowing in concern. He didn’t let go of Wilbur’s sleeve. “You don’t know who you’re associating with.”

“And you do? We’ve only just met, Tommy!” Wilbur whispered forcefully, glancing around at the other knights out of ingrained paranoia. He’d always worried about his brothers overhearing his conversations, and now there were even higher stakes than just a bit of teasing.

“Don’t try to be a hero, Wilbur,” Tommy warned him. “You’ll only get hurt.”

Wilbur wondered what Tommy knew. “I have to go,” Wilbur insisted, and when Tommy didn’t stop him he went to join Sir Carson and Schlatt.

“Is Sir Adam okay?” Sir Carson asked as soon as Wilbur appeared, slightly out of breath.

“I- yes, the doctor was just getting him back on his feet when I left,” Wilbur answered. “What’s going on down here?” Wilbur glanced around at the guests.

“Sir Travis has gone to inform King Jordan of the thievery,” said Sir Carson. “Other than that, nothing much. Dinner should start soon.” Sir Carson paused. “I want to go talk to the king, but I’m afraid it might look suspicious.”

“What are your thoughts on the robbery, Sir Carson?” Wilbur piped up.

Sir Carson blinked. “Didn’t I ever tell you that you can just call me Carson? I’m an adventurer, not a groomed dog like some of these other knights.” His gaze found Sir Phillip, and Wilbur wondered what their deal was. “Anyway, that aside, I don’t think that it was a spur-of-the-moment thing. Nor do I think it was isolated. Our friend Sir Jacob has a bit of a nasty reputation, though nobody can pin the crime on him because he wasn’t technically part of it.”

“How so?” Wilbur inquired, but before Carson could answer, King Jordan found his place at the head table and gently tapped a spoon against the side of his goblet, calling for attention.

“Knights and companions!” King Jordan started. “Please take your seats, as the banquet will begin soon.” There was a great rumbling and scraping of chairs as the guests did as they were told. “Tonight’s meal will be served family-style, with no course order. I know none of you knights will judge me for this, though any nobility present may be writing angry letters home to their families.” Only a few people laughed. “Without further ado, we will begin.”

Wilbur was sitting between Schlatt and Carson, and as soon as King Jordan uttered the words ‘will begin’, the hall seemed to erupt into chaos. There were some noble knights there, but the majority were like Carson - lowborn travellers - so there was a distinct lack of table manners. A glance at the head table told Wilbur that King Jordan was thoroughly enjoying himself, with a large smile on his face, but Vice Taylor seemed distinctly unamused.

Wilbur was stirred from his thoughts by Carson filling Wilbur’s goblet with ale, then hitting Wilbur on the shoulder with his stump, which was unsettling. Carson leaned over and whispered, “It would be best if neither of us woke up with a hangover tomorrow, but if you don’t at least look like you’re drinking, somebody will get suspicious. Look at your new friend, over there!” Carson pointed to Tommy, further down their table, who was already almost finished one goblet of whatever he was drinking. It actually looked rather like milk, not alcohol at all, but Wilbur couldn’t be sure.

Tentatively, Wilbur lifted the goblet to his lips and pretended like he was sipping from it. Schlatt seemed to be ignoring Carson’s advice completely as he chugged an entire goblet of beer, though Wilbur wasn’t sure if demons could get hangovers in the first place. Pages darted to and fro placing platters of steaming food on the table, and Wilbur quickly realized how hungry he was.

“Pigeon pie, Wilbur?” Carson offered, serving himself a piece of the dish as he waited for Wilbur’s reply.

“Yes, thank you,” Wilbur graciously accepted. He then piled his plate full of steaming vegetables, roasted potatoes, and what he thought was cooked pheasant. While he was eating, he got an itching feeling that he was being watched by somebody. When he looked up, whoever it was must have looked away, but at the opposite table, Wilbur noticed the helmeted knight he and Carson had met in the courtyard. “Hey, Carson,” Wilbur asked, finishing off his pie. “Do you know that knight over there? The one with the visor. We saw him outside.”

“No, I don’t-” Carson started, before freezing with his fork halfway to his mouth. Then he blinked, shook his head, and said, “Definitely not. Reminds me of someone I used to know, yes, but I may or may not have dropped that someone off of a mountain when I was eighteen. The armour styling’s similar.”

“Why? What did they do?” Wilbur asked, almost dropping his knife in surprise. That had not been the response he had been anticipating.

“Attempted to frame me for murder and robbery, and then attempted to kill me when that didn’t work.” Carson huffed a sigh. “Wasn’t a fun fortnight. And that’s not including the war crimes. Contrary to popular belief, some humans helped the Windwings during the war.”

“Why would anybody do that?” Wilbur’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“Money, revenge, a vendetta against the nobility…” Carson shrugged and changed the subject. “Have you tried the bread yet? It’s still warm.” Carson passed the bowl of bread to Wilbur, who took a slice and attempted to find a place for it onto his plate.

Carson was soon dragged into somebody else’s conversation about fighting dragons, and Wilbur listened intently while finishing his meal. Schlatt’s attention was on the opposite side of the room - the head table, where King Jordan was telling what sounded, from the laughter, like a hilarious anecdote to Sir Alexander, Sir Travis, and Sir Joshua. Sir Joko was attempting to have a conversation with Vice Taylor but failing. Sir Adam still hadn’t reappeared.

“Where will the tournament be held?” Wilbur turned to Schlatt. “I didn’t see a jousting field in the courtyard.”

Schlatt snorted. “You don’t hold a jousting tournament in a  _ courtyard, _ Wilbur. The Lists - that is to say, the jousting fields - are just outside the walls of the city. We’ll ride out tomorrow morning.” Schlatt looked down at his empty plate. “Carson’s in the lists, but I won’t be competing. Neither will you. We’ll be on the lookout for any funny business. After what’s happened today, I think it’s safe to say that there will be something. I think  _ your _ job,” Schlatt poked Wilbur in the chest, “will be to keep an eye out for me while I’m snooping around.”

“Schlatt, wouldn’t it make more sense for the little one to do the snooping?” Carson put in, nearly making Wilbur jump out of his skin from surprise. “After all, he’s a little less conspicuous than a freakishly tall goat.”

Schlatt glowered at Carson. “Carson, I thought we agreed to discuss this  _ without _ Wilbur?” he growled. “It could be dangerous. I’m not going to make the boy do anything too perilous.”

“Everything will be dangerous!” Carson exclaimed, before lowering his voice. “Technoblade could launch a siege any moment and this could be the difference between winning or losing the war. If Wilbur’s willing to sneak around, then we shouldn’t stop him.”

“I’m also sitting right here,” Wilbur put in, feeling slightly awkward as Schlatt and Carson argued around him. “What do you want me to do?”

Carson sighed. “Schlatt and I have realized that robbery isn’t exactly Technoblade’s style. His modus operandi is showing up somewhere, rallying the people, and then burning down the houses of anybody that disagrees with him. Case in point - Southbridge, about a week and a half ago. A population of about one hundred and eleven. Estimated twelve dead, twenty-two homeless, and at least fifty new able-bodied men gone to join Technoblade’s forces.”

“How do you-” Wilbur started before Schlatt cut him off.

“A raven came in while you were up with Sir Adam. Sir Travis delivered the news to us. Vice Taylor hasn’t taken it very well. King Jordan’s keeping up appearances, but he’s unnerved.” Schlatt glanced back to the head table, and Wilbur realized why he’d been staring at the king, vice, and Crownguard knights.

“So if Technoblade isn’t behind the robbery, and you think it was planned and will happen again-” Wilbur began, starting to catch on.

“It’s already happened multiple times,” Carson informed him. “Sir Travis confirmed as much.”

“-somebody inside the castle is helping the robbers,” Wilbur concluded, proud of himself for realizing it, even with Carson and Schlatt’s prompts. “But who would do such a thing?” Wilbur blinked.

“Somebody that would benefit from creating instability,” Carson said. “Somebody that knows the goings-on of the kingdom better than anybody else. Somebody that knows how powerful the opinions of the people are, and that King Jordan would rather give away his throne than fight with his subjects. Somebody in the prime position to take over if King Jordan was forced into abdicating.” Carson paused, looking expectantly at Wilbur. “I’m sure you can guess as to who we need to investigate.”

“Yes,” Wilbur replied. “Vice Taylor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> April Fool's! Y'all thought that I would upload a joke chapter... but NO, it's a normal chapter! My favourite kind of prank XD  
> Anyway yeah, Antvenom is looking more and more suspicious and Wilbur's plotline is becoming more and more like a mystery TV show. And guess who's been watching a ton of Father Brown while in quarantine - me! I love mysteries :))))))  
> I'm also being driven stir-crazy. If you're also being driven stir-crazy by life in general, may I recommend checking out my other fics? If you like this story, there's probably something else there that piques your interest :D (Warriorscraft is enjoyable even without any knowledge of Warrior Cats, I'll be explaining all the lore anyway)


	24. Wilbur is Now a Detective + Somebody Must Have Replaced Fitz With His Mildly Less Horrible Clone

Under the cover of darkness, Wilbur made his way back out to the stables. He left his jacket behind, as he was finding he didn’t need it anymore. Wilbur almost hoped that Technoblade would launch his siege before the high heat of summer - he couldn’t imagine being trapped inside the castle during the sweltering temperatures. It had never been bad back home, where the trees provided welcome shade, but Irys was the complete opposite of Eagle’s Burrow.

“Ted!” Wilbur hissed, glancing nervously at the yellow-cloaked guards lining the parapets of the castle. He wondered which of the Crownguard knights would be on duty tonight - perhaps he’d have an opportunity to talk to Sir Adam and see how he was getting on. But first, Ted had asked him for an update.

Stal huffed and reached over the wooden divider to nudge Ted’s shoulder with his snout. “Wake up,” Stal grumbled. “The kid’s here and maybe if you speak to him quickly, the rest of us could get some sleep.”

“I’m not complaining,” Milo put in from the other side of Ted. “I’m interested in whatever Wilbur has to say.”

“ _ Thank _ you, Milo,” Ted said, blinking his eyes open. He sounded exasperated. “I’ve almost had enough of your quips, Stal. I hate being locked up next to you, sourpuss.”

Stal flipped his mane and turned away, while Milo replied, “Ted, I don’t think that’s necessary… he’s just tired,” with an element of sympathy in his gaze as his eyes followed Stal.

“Don’t tell me you have a soft spot for Stal, newbie?” Ted looked over at Milo. “I’ve known Stal for years. He’s always been like this, so don’t try to defend him to me.”

Milo bristled. “Maybe if you made more of an effort to be nice-” Milo suggested forcefully, but Ted just snorted and shook out his mane.

“Can we get back to the topic at hand?” Wilbur interjected. “I need to get some sleep as well, but Ted asked me to come back first.” Wilbur grabbed one of the poles and leaned against it. “Sir- er, Carson wants me to investigate Vice Taylor for treason.”

That got the horses’ attention.

“For  _ treason? _ ” Ted repeated. “I think you’d better start at the beginning, Wil.”

So Wilbur did, explaining the events of the day in full. He left out his meeting with Schlatt from that morning and the part about almost passing out because he didn’t want another lecture from Ted, but everything else was duly covered.

“Conspiring against the king,” Stal snorted. “If it’s true, Vice Taylor’s in the deep end. He’ll get sent to the Spire for life because we all know how much King Jordan hates executing people. Just like most vices.”

The Spire. Wilbur had heard of it before. The most heavily-guarded prison in the realm, located about an hour’s ride west of Irys. It was a tower that seemed to stretch into the heavens, Wilbur had read, with cells up the inside, starting above the height of a lethal fall. The importance of the prisoner increased as one ascended - if a king ever needed to be imprisoned, he would find himself at the very top. The second-highest cell was reserved for vices… and Wilbur could only estimate how many it had held. Vices seemed to have a long, bloody history of regicide and treason.

“Vices aren’t allowed to be executed,” Milo reminded Stal. “They have official amnesty. That’s why the Spire exists, after all. After their power is taken away, most of those who turn into traitors admit their mistakes. It wouldn’t help to chop off their heads before they could make peace, would it?”

Stal grumbled something that sounded like ‘it would spare everybody a lot of trouble’, but everybody pretended to not hear.

“I, for one, don’t think that Vice Taylor would do something like that,” Ted declared. “He’s suspicious and hiding something, but King Jordan is his closest friend.” Ted coughed. “Apparently, anyway. If it  _ is _ him, perhaps he’s being blackmailed? Everybody knows that he lost his wife and son during the war, but there isn’t much else to him. Maybe there’s a secret in that mystery history that somebody’s discovered.”

“He was married?” Wilbur questioned. Ted had said ‘everybody’, but that didn’t include Wilbur.

“It was one of the last Windwing raids of the entire war, just a few days before King Jordan took the crown and appointed Vice Taylor. They burned his house to the ground and he was the only survivor,” Ted explained gently. “If the rumours are to be believed, he hates Windwings with a passion because of it. Though honestly, who doesn’t hate Windwings at this point?”

Wilbur slumped. “I almost don’t want to snoop around his office now,” he admitted. “That’s… tough.” He drummed his fingers on his arm.

“There are other rumours, of course. A prominent one is that his wife died, but his son was actually kidnapped.” Ted shook his head. “I don’t believe it. What would Windwings want with a human child?”

“Dark magic,” Stal put in. “A Windwing speciality. And, for the record, power makes anybody crooked. I’d believe that Vice Taylor was a traitor in a heartbeat.”

“We can always trust Stal to see the best in people,” Ted added dryly. “Resident sunshine and rainbows, he is.”

“So, Wilbur? Are you going to investigate the assassins  _ and _ Vice Taylor? It sounds very dangerous. I don’t want you getting hurt,” Milo said, tilting his head slightly. “Maybe Schlatt could investigate the assassins. At least Vice Taylor won’t kill you if he catches you searching through his things.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him,” Stal snorted. “He’s fishier than a net full of herrings.”

Everybody ignored Stal.

“Schlatt will be busy watching over the king,” Wilbur started. “The Crownguard knights are in the lists, after all. I’m smaller, faster, and quieter than Schlatt. Sir Travis showed me a few basic moves with a knife just in case, though I’ll have to pick one up from the armoury tomorrow.” Wilbur took a deep breath. “I’m going to do it. Investigate both, that is. The assassins first, then Vice Taylor.”

Stal didn’t seem to care, while Ted nodded encouragingly and Milo just looked concerned and worried.

“Get some sleep, Wilbur,” Milo urged, bumping Wilbur’s shoulder with his snout. “It sounds like you’re going to need it.”

* * *

Charlie ran up to the wagon, a leather-bound notebook clutched in his hands. Noah, Fitz, Swagger, Mason, Matt, and Jay were waiting for him in the loosest sense of the word, all of them busy sharpening swords, packing bags, and readying the horses. As Charlie approached, Noah looked up and slid his long knife back into his belt.

“What’s that?” Noah called, gesturing to the notebook.

“Research!” Charlie declared, tossing it into Noah’s open hands. “Our masked man went completely off the grid, but people still notice things. I was compiling all of the letters you gave me from your, er, ‘friends’ with the White Rose, picking out anything useful and stitching together leads.”

Noah opened the book and started to flip through, a pensive expression on his face. After a moment, he snapped the book shut again and looked back to Charlie, smiling. Noah tossed Charlie the notebook and asked, “What’s our strongest lead, then, Charlie the Wise?”

Charlie couldn’t squash the grin that rose to his face. Even in the current circumstances, he couldn’t help being happy that he was finally useful for something, and that he might accomplish something. It was time to prove that he wasn’t a failure.

Charlie hopped up onto the back of the Misfits’ wagon to stand next to Noah, who was sitting. “Irys,” Charlie announced. “First, most of the sightings have been there. Second, most of your contacts live there. Third, it’s where Pyro tried to convince me to go and told you to take me, so it’s where Pyro would go if he escaped.”

“Fourth,” Fitz’ voice added from the roof of the carriage, “your pals the Misfits are wanted criminals and will be arrested the moment they set foot in Irys.”

Charlie almost spat back something barbed and angry, but he faltered when Fitz grinned and opened his mouth to go on.

“Or they would if they were complete imbeciles,” Fitz continued. “I hope you didn’t think you were going to get rid of us that easily. I’ve been meaning to shave this beard, after all, and you’d be surprised how well Swagger can fit that helmet of his under a cloak.”

Charlie was so surprised by Fitz’ sudden humour that he didn’t have anything to say. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it again. Noah jumped in to help.

“Have you heard anything from your associates?” Noah asked swiftly, hopping down from the back of the wagon to look up at Fitz.

Fitz laughed. “The Misfits don’t have ‘associates’, Noah,” Fitz corrected, making the quotations with his fingers. “We have a list of people that owe us favours and don’t want us dead. There’s another list for people that owe us favours and  _ do _ want us dead, which we can resort to if we come up empty.”

“Okay, well, have you heard anything from your list of people that owe you favours and don’t want you dead?” Charlie could sense that Noah was repressing a sigh. He wasn’t sure if helpful and attempting to be funny Fitz was better or worse than sullen, hostile Fitz.

“Nothing yet.” Fitz shook his head. “Sadly, we only own three ravens, so that’s severely depleting our ability to send messages. I’d use some of the Soot family’s ravens, but we have to get going and only our ravens are trained to find us again. We’d have to wait for replies here, and that would just take too long.”

“You have  _ ravens? _ ” Charlie asked. He hadn’t even noticed.

“They were away before, only came back last night. They’re mostly Swagger’s. Every time I go near them, one of them bites me. He named them Ine, Parte, and Ete, which is something poetic in Oldspeak, probably. Did I ever tell you guys that Swagger’s a huge nerd?” When Charlie shook his head, Fitz went on. “He learned Oldspeak. For  _ fun. _ Who does that? It’s a dead language, by the gods!”

Oldspeak was the unused human language from before the Great Fall of the Southern Kingdom and the signing of the Treaty of Five. One of the Treaty’s parts dictated that a common language should be shared between all of the kingdoms - hence the creation of Commonspeak. Languages like Draconic and Hythis (the language of those native to Lixian) were still spoken in other kingdoms, but Commonspeak was the official language of all five.

“My parents forced me to learn Oldspeak,” Charlie grumbled. “I’ve forgotten most of it. Apparently, it’s easier to learn traditional magic in a second language. I still completely failed.”

“Couldn’t you try combining traditional magic with slime magic?” Noah suggested. “I don’t know much about these kinds of things, but from what you’ve told me before, surely it would be possible to use the ‘element’ of slime as the source of an incantation instead of trying to draw on one that you’ve never used. Because every spell has an element, right?” Noah tapped his knee with his fingers, looking thoughtful. “Most spells use the element of balance. But what if you just… used the spell and changed the element?”

Charlie tilted his head. “I don’t think that would work,” he said, but he wasn’t sure. “I spent days with my nose in books, trying to figure out ways to be more useful. There was nothing about replacing elements or combining internal magic with external. It could have disastrous consequences.”

“Maybe you just weren’t looking in the right places,” Noah replied. “I mean, surely your family has control over what’s in your library, and if they didn’t think it was important or valid…”

“I can pick up some books when we get to Irys,” Charlie decided. “When are we leaving, Fitz?” he called, looking back up to the roof of the carriage.

“As soon as you two stop jabbering like jays!” Fitz called back, climbing down the side of the wagon and hopping onto the ground. “Charlie, you can ride in the back with Jay and Swagger. Mason’s taking roof duty and Matt will be up front with me. Noah, just follow along, I guess.”

“Fitz, are you okay?” Charlie asked suddenly. It seemed as if overnight, Fitz had become a completely different person. He hadn’t snapped at anybody since Charlie had arrived.

“Completely, don’t ask me stupid questions,” Fitz replied, and Charlie was just even more confused. “Come on, we’re burning daylight here!” Fitz disappeared onto the front end of the carriage and Matt quickly joined him. Mason shook the entire wagon by climbing up onto the roof, almost making Charlie jump.

Noah leapt up onto the back of his horse, using the saddle to heave his leg over. “Have fun with the bad boys, Charlie,” he teased, before jolting Sif into a slow trot up to the front.

“At least I’ll have somebody to talk to,” Charlie muttered to himself. Charlie climbed up onto the back of the carriage and ducked inside, finding that Jay was already there, his orange scarf hanging loosely around his neck. Jay was tying knots on a small length of rope, but when he saw Charlie enter he tossed it into the assortment of bags and trunks. “Where can I sit?” Charlie asked, looking around at the seat-less interior.

“Anywhere,” Jay replied. “Just don’t break anything.” Jay was sitting on a thick rectangular trunk that probably belonged to him, but Charlie couldn’t be sure. It was a bit of a mess.

Charlie sat down across from Jay, using a bag of something soft to cushion his back against the wall. He didn’t want to risk crushing anything, so he just sat on the floor. Jay eyed him with amusement. It wasn’t a secret that Charlie was on edge.

Swagger appeared in the entrance of the carriage (though Charlie was starting to realize it was more like a modern-style ‘stagecoach’ used in the west, where a wooden roof was more effective against the heavy rain and strong winds) and almost whacked his helmet on the doorway. Once he was inside, he started to draw a thick curtain across the opening, before Jay called, “Leave it!” and he abandoned the pursuit. Swagger sat down next to Charlie, though there was a bag between them.

Charlie felt as if he should say something, but the tension between him and the two Misfits was frighteningly thick. Finally, he swallowed and just said, “What’s the curtain for?”

“Keeping the weather out,” Jay answered. “It’s so nice out today that there isn’t a point.” He glanced at Swagger.

_ Oh, great, _ Charlie thought.  _ We’ve defaulted to talking about the weather. _ After a moment’s pause, Charlie turned to Swagger and started, “Fitz mentioned that you keep ravens.”

“I do,” Swagger replied, seeming to shake from a sort of stupor. “They’re beautiful creatures. Highly intelligent, too.” As soon as he paused, Jay jumped in.

Jay rolled his eyes. “Now you’ve got him going,” Jay groaned sarcastically. “Dude, never mention Swagger’s ravens around him. He’ll talk about them for hours.”

“They make good company and they’re very interesting!” Swagger objected. “Though they don’t seem to like anybody else much.”

“He  _ talks _ to the birds,” Jay told Charlie, ignoring Swagger. “I’ll see if we can invite you to the wedding. Swagger and the three ravens. It’ll be a summer date, mind you, and no formal clothing required.”

“I’d be delighted to come,” Charlie joked. “Do I need to bring a gift?”

Jay opened his mouth to reply as the carriage lurched into movement, the steady clop of hooves suddenly filling the air outside. After righting himself on the trunk, Jay replied, “It’s not required.”

“I’m becoming increasingly more sure that you two are making fun of me,” Swagger grumbled. “For your information, even in the Sky Kingdom, marrying a bird is looked down upon.”

“And of course you’d know that,” Jay laughed. “Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were hiding feathers underneath that helmet.”

It may have just been a figment of Charlie’s imagination, but after Jay’s comment, Swagger seemed uneasy, though the conversation continued. It got Charlie thinking… Why  _ did _ Swagger wear that helmet all the time?

What exactly was the rogue hiding?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swagger x 3 literal ravens is the ONLY valid ship I do not make the rules  
> Also I don't know if Antvenom is married IRL, for story and lore purposes he's a widower here and his wife was some lady I made up, dw about it  
> stal and milo finally make another appearance!! lov dem horses


	25. The Blackthorns Are Not Having a Good Time

As the days went on, Charlie’s notebook grew steadily bigger. They continued towards Irys, but ravens came and went with more information. There was a heated discussion between Charlie, Noah, Swagger, and Fitz based on a recent sighting somewhere out east, but in the end, they decided to keep on their current course. Charlie never quite got used to sleeping on the hard wooden floor of the carriage, and no matter how hard they tried to patch it up, the hole in the floor always fell back open again.

Charlie had taken a night shift up front with the horses, paired with Matt. However, Matt was still weak from his injury, and he had quickly fallen asleep with his black cowl pulled over his face. At least Charlie could easily wake him up if there was any trouble, Charlie supposed. Charlie didn’t know if the others were awake or asleep in the back, only that they were going to stop around midnight, aside from Noah, who didn’t have the option as he was riding his own horse.

“Hey, Charlie.” Oh, and Charlie could see Noah, that’s right. “You alright?”

Charlie frowned. “I keep zoning out. Whose idea was it to have me watch these horses?” He tightened his grip on the reins. He wasn’t too worried about the horses because they seemed to know what they were doing, but he couldn’t control the anxiety prickling under his skin.

“I thought you volunteered,” Noah replied. “All ‘I have to contribute to the group or else I feel like a failure’ and whatnot.” Noah reached over and poked Charlie in the side. “You’re a growing boy, Charlie, you need sleep!”

Charlie laughed and flinched away. “Sleep is for sissies. Besides, I’d probably end up thinking too hard about everything and making myself more panicked.” Charlie glanced over at Matt, glad that he didn’t snore.

“Well, let’s talk about something else, then,” Noah decided. There was silence as neither of them had any ideas.

“Your brother!” Charlie exclaimed, before quieting down. “You mentioned that you had one but you barely talk about him. Can you tell me about your brother?”

A small smile crossed Noah’s face. “Ha. I’d almost forgotten that I have a brother. Which I’ve been trying to do for a while. He’s a constant, inescapable thorn in my side. He keeps bothering me about my life choices and I keep trying to figure out how he manages to find me.” Noah sighed. “His name is Travis and he’s a knight. So I guess I should call him Sir Travis, but I don’t because it bothers him.”

“He doesn’t like you because you’re a…” Charlie grimaced. There wasn’t a complementary way to end that sentence.

“I use the word ‘mercenary’,” Noah informed him. “I’m not some vile scum of the earth or anything, I just prefer to not take money from the Crown for my work. But yes, he thinks I should have chosen a more noble career. He’s especially angry about the fact that I was in the army and then deserted.”

“You… what?” Charlie blinked. “You didn’t mention this before.”

“Yes, well, it’s not exactly something I’m proud of,” Noah snapped. “I lost face and ran away. It’s as simple as that. I’d be dead right now if it wasn’t for King Jordan’s official deserter’s pardon.” Noah rubbed his neck as if he were imagining a headsman’s axe chopping through it. “King Nathan wasn’t fond of traitors.”

Charlie gulped. He wasn’t sure what else to say, but that didn’t seem to be an issue for Noah. Noah kept talking.

“You should be glad you were born after the war, Charlie,” Noah continued. “It’s the worst thing that anybody can experience. You can’t even imagine what one of those battles was like. Nobody comes out of a war the same man they were going in. I didn’t. Travis didn’t. I’ll bet you anything Matt, Jay, and Swagger didn’t. Even if they never saw a battle. The trauma’s collective.” Noah paused. “Sometimes it gets too much, even for a guy you might think is tough, like me.”

“I… I’m sorry,” Charlie stammered. He didn’t know how to reply or reassure Noah that it was alright now.

Noah just shook his head and changed the subject. “I hope we find Pyro soon. I can’t even imagine what this masked man could want with him.”

“Me too,” Charlie agreed.

* * *

_ Tap… tap… tap... _

Pyro wanted to snap at whoever was making that infernal sound, but consciousness continued to elude him. There was also the faint rushing of a river, but that was a far more peaceful sound.

_ Tap… tap… tap… _

How long had it been? A few hours, a day, maybe more? Everything hurt. His brain felt foggy.

_ Tap… tap… tap… _

Finally, Pyro jolted awake. The waking world felt almost the same as the world behind his eyelids, no difference in the shade of darkness. He tried to move his hands and found them chained to the wall above his head, which also prevented him from summoning any fire. Pyro coughed, realizing how thirsty he was. And hungry, he added as his stomach rumbled.

The tapping stopped.

“Hello?” a voice called out gently, but wherever they were had an echo that meant Pyro could hear them clearly. “Are you finally awake?”

Pyro let out another dry cough. “I can’t-” he muttered, leaning forward until the chains were the only reason he wasn’t face-planting into the floor. “Do you have water?” Pyro managed, his voice hoarse.

“Oh, yeah, the chains. I forgot. I was chained up, too, at first,” Pyro heard light footsteps but he couldn’t place their whereabouts. Then there was a heavy thunk on the ground in front of him. “You’ll get used to the darkness quickly. That’s a bucket, by the way. Don’t drink it all in one go, you’ve been out for a while.”

Pyro spluttered as he tried to figure out how to drink from the bucket without using his hands. He felt uncomfortable because he knew whoever else was there was watching him, but he couldn’t see them. However, he was too scrambled to make a fuss about it.

“Maybe now that there’s two of us, I’ll finally get that light I’ve been requesting,” the voice sounded oddly cheery, especially for the fellow prisoner that Pyro thought they might be. “I mean, I’ve got wood down here, but there’s nothing to light it with.”

“Wood?” Pyro perked up, grateful for the distraction from the water dripping down his face. It was really bugging him that he couldn’t wipe it away. “I can light it. Bring some over here, why don’t you?”

Pyro could feel the strange look he must have been getting from the stranger, but he soon heard the clattering of wood being dropped on the ground. It was more difficult without sight, but Pyro knew he could light things without touching them. All he had to do was avoid hitting himself or the stranger, and it would be fine.

When the stick burst into flame, Pyro heard quick footsteps as the stranger disappeared from the room. He blinked, trying to get his bearings as his eyes adjusted again. He seemed to be in a nondescript cave, which was unfortunate. Nothing that gave him any clues as to where he was or who had taken him.

“You can come back, it’s okay,” Pyro called out, wanting to know the identity of his only possible ally in this situation.

“The fire surprised me,” the stranger admitted sheepishly, stepping into view from the cave’s entrance on the far side. It seemed to just lead into another cave, probably the one where the other man stayed. “Tell me honestly, how bad do I look? I haven’t looked in a mirror in ages.” Then he laughed. “It’s almost harder to see with the light than without.”

He did look like a mess. Ragged brown hair fell in messy, tangled clumps around his face, and his eyes were hooded with dark circles underneath to signify exhaustion. His grey tunic was patchy and worn, and the tattered remains of something purple, maybe a cape or a scarf, was tied around his neck. He wasn’t wearing any shoes, which explained how quiet his movements had been.

“You look like a disaster,” Pyro replied. “How long have you been down here? And why are you here? Why am  _ I _ here?” The questions came out before Pyro could stop them. “Who are you?”

The stranger started to tick off Pyro’s questions on his fingers as he answered them. “Not sure, because I’m stupid, don’t know, I’ve mostly forgotten,” he listed quickly. “Tell me who you are and how you ended up getting caught, and maybe I’ll happen to remember something.”

“I’m…” Pyro hesitated. He supposed if he was going to get out of here with this man’s help, he’d better tell him everything. “My name is Niall Blackthorn, but everybody knows me as Pyrocynical. I was helping my cousin Charlie escape from the rest of our family when I was captured by a couple of bandits looking for a bounty. Charlie got me away, but our family caught up to us. It was during the fight that I got, er, snatched.”

The stranger hummed. “You’re a reject, then, just like me,” he said, sitting down on the other side of the fire. “I’ve been down here too long to think that it’s just a coincidence. No, the masked man has something against us. I’ve been forming theories for ages, but since I only had myself to go off of, there wasn’t much proof for anything.”

“Something against Blackthorns? Well, that narrows it down,” Pyro commented dryly. “It could be just about anybody, then, since the whole fiasco in the 700s.” Pyro slumped back against the cold stone wall.

“But think about it!” the stranger exclaimed, moving his hands as he talked. “Did you see that mask e’s wearing? I may have almost forgotten my name, but I’m not a completely lost cause. I’ll bet you anything it’s the same one that was stolen and ‘destroyed’.”

“You’ve been thinking about this a lot,” Pyro noted.

The stranger shrugged. “I haven’t had much else to do. I’ve been hoping for help for ages. Maybe with two of us, I can finally escape from here.” He sighed. “Of course, I could get out easily if I just knew where we are... but if I tried to teleport out I’d probably just get stuck in a wall somewhere and suffocate to death. Not fun.”

“Wait, if you’re a Blackthorn, then why don’t I recognize you?” Pyro asked. He was beginning to get a sinking feeling in his stomach. There were only a few Blackthorns that had been kicked out during Pyro’s lifetime, but none more recent than ten years ago, unless the stranger had faked his death or something.

“I-I don’t know,” the stranger admitted. “I don’t recognize you either. It’s a big family, though, and maybe your brain’s still a little messed up from being unconscious. I’m sure it’s nothing.” The stranger’s smile was everything but reassuring. “Oh, by the way, before I forget… my name is Seto.”

Pyro bit his tongue to keep from gasping. He muttered, “Nice to meet you,” and looked away. He knew of a Seto Blackthorn. But he wasn’t sure which was worse - the fact that Seto didn’t know how long it had been since he’d seen the sun or the truth about the passage of time.

The truth was that even at the most conservative estimate, Seto had been missing for twenty-five years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody knows at what point I will stop introducing new characters. Big thanks to my friend Lessa for helping me out with Seto as I started running out of creators that I actually watch! Honestly, I picked Seto for this because I'd been seeing fanart and my friends talk about him, so when I was like 'hey I need another mildly evil wizard character' he was my first thought. Poor guy, though, being stuck in a cave for at least twenty-five years. I wonder where his friends are...? (Okay, y'all know where Adam is, but you know what I'm talking about)  
> This chapter is slightly filler as I try to figure out how to do things. A lot of stuff needs to happen with Wilbur but some of it is a little crazy and so I'm trying to spread it out. This is what I get for not having a plannnnnnnnnnn :)


	26. Cooper Makes a New Friend & Reunites With an Old One

Cooper was nervous. Caldwell was gripping his shoulder like a protective father, and Cooper didn’t shrug him away. He’d been reassured all morning that there was nothing to be scared of by both Altrive and Caldwell, though the former had stayed back to watch over the manor. And still, the thought of walking into such a foreign situation in a kingdom that wasn’t his own was terrifying. Almost more terrifying than the nightmares themselves.

“I’ll go in first, alright?” Caldwell offered, letting go of Cooper’s shoulder and stepping up to the door. It was a private establishment that Caldwell had spoken highly of. With a renegade merfolk tagging along, the more private, the better.

“Yeah, okay,” Cooper replied, wringing his hands together nervously. He ran his fingertips over the edges of the webbing between his fingers, grounding himself. “Who’s this doctor again?”

“Her name is Niki,” Caldwell answered, giving the door a firm triple knock with the back of his hand. “Don’t worry about offending her or anything, she’s hard to upset. But don’t underestimate her either - she might seem soft, but you have no idea what’s come through this office.”

Cooper’s mind flashed back to some of the battle injuries he’d seen, sights that made him physically ill, and the healers that rushed to treat them without a second glance. “I won’t,” he promised. Back home, healers were both valued caretakers and fearsome warriors. Many could knock out fully-grown merfolk and leave them without a scratch.

The door was opened from the inside and Caldwell stepped up, gesturing for Cooper to follow. “You’ll be in and out before you know it,” Caldwell said, striding inside.

Cooper was still uneasy.

* * *

There were more questions than Cooper expected, many which had nothing to do with the point of his visit. Questions about his friends, his city, his kingdom, his daily life, his hobbies, et cetera. There were a few times when Cooper almost forgot that Niki was a doctor trying to help him and not simply somebody interested in learning about his life. He told an anecdote about a pod of dolphins that Niki seemed to find particularly funny, and halfway through he realized that maybe this was the point. Surely she’d noticed that he was uneasy, or maybe just assumed because he was one of the merfolk?

When she started to ask about his nightmares, they were small questions with simple answers. When he seemed unsettled or uncomfortable she would change the subject, before going back a few moments later when he was relaxed again. She was much more gentle than healers underwater. Cooper supposed that was because the Ocean Kingdoms were in a permanent state of war.

Cooper decided that he didn’t mind seeing a doctor if this was what it was like.

* * *

Caldwell was waiting outside for him when he came out, looking as cheerful as ever.

“How was it?” Caldwell asked, leading the way back down the road towards the mansion.

“Good,” Cooper answered, which seemed to satisfy Caldwell. Caldwell didn’t pry further, instead, he went on to talk about the weather and how he was glad he’d delayed his trip to the capital.

“Why are you going to the capital?” Cooper asked, and Caldwell stuttered. He seemed to have forgotten that Cooper was there.

“Pardon?” Caldwell blinked, looking rather like an aghast parrotfish.

“Why are you going to the capital?” Cooper repeated, stuffing his hands into the pockets of the huge overcoat he was wearing. It was supple and made of something Altrive had called ‘leather’.

“King Jordan’s hosting some kind of jousting tourney and thought I might be interested,” Caldwell answered, waving a hand dismissively as if implying that it didn’t matter. “Some time away from here would be nice, even though I love it. I’ll only be away for a night or two.” Caldwell clapped his hands together. “Say, Cooper, you could come with me! I’m sure there’s room for an extra one, especially since we haven’t had a chance to fatten you up yet.” Caldwell elbowed Cooper in the ribs to make his point.

Cooper rubbed his side with an exclamation of pain. It was true, he was rather skinny. But it wasn’t his fault - there had been rationing in the Ocean Kingdoms since before he’d been born. Food was carefully calculated. There were no feasts in the Ocean Kingdoms. The chuul were attracted to large caravans, so big transports were difficult. That was why border patrols were always so small.

“How far is the capital?” Cooper asked. He felt drawn to the sea, even though he had left it, and he didn’t know how far from it he could bear to be.

“A half-day’s ride or so,” Caldwell said with a shrug. “Maybe a little more. There’s always a little bit of haggling around the Spire, so it can depend.”

“The… Spire?” Cooper knew what a spire was, but not when it was used as a proper noun.

“The Crown’s top-security prison, for capital criminals and convicted royalty,” Caldwell replied matter-of-factly. “There haven’t been many prisoners since all of those pardons King Jordan gave out after the war, due to all the people convicted of war crimes and such that he felt no longer applied. Though apparently, the records are a mess and a lot of the ones from before the war are buried so deep that nobody may ever find them again.” Caldwell punctuated his words with his hand as he spoke. “Sir Adam’s the official overseer of the records and Spire affairs, or at least he was until recently. I think he was switched over to current affairs and diplomatic relations with Sir Joshua, to try to win some support from other kingdoms in case anything goes  _ really _ wrong.”

“You seem to know a lot about politics,” Cooper commented, impressed. He was a prince and he barely knew anything that went on in the Ocean Kingdoms, other than ‘the chuul are causing problems and killing citizens, like always’.

“I keep up on the latest ravens,” Caldwell explained. “It’s my job, being Lord of the Western Coast and everything, to be in tune with everything that’s going on around Cypress in case it affects me or calls on my jurisdiction. Also, it’s slightly boring out here. Nothing ever happens other than the occasional run-in with some rogue chuul or the odd White Rose activity. I might as well stay up-to-date.”

“You have chuul problems here too?” Cooper asked with surprise.

“Not nearly as bad as in your kingdom, but yes. Those stupid crustaceans with their razor claws and icky tentacles grab any boat that goes too far out. We’re able to avoid them or fend them off most of the time, but occasionally a ship goes down and nobody can help.” Caldwell sighed. “I’ve stabbed a few of those buggers myself. It’s always satisfying to watch their exoskeletons crack.”

Cooper grimaced. He often daydreamed about killing chuul, but more often than not, his thoughts went back to his parents. Caldwell seemed to notice Cooper’s discomfort and hurried on.

“But we’re dealing with it! I’m trying to open negotiations with High Counsellor Allon for ways that we could work together to cut down their numbers. The kingdoms should help each other, I feel, though your grandfather is an awfully stubborn man.” Caldwell cracked a smile as he looked over at Cooper.

“Trust me, I know,” Cooper replied. Cooper’s smile was small, tight, and laced with mixed feelings. “And- uh, the White Rose? What’s that?” Cooper changed the subject, eager to move along.

“Organized crime ring,” Caldwell answered smoothly. “Rogues-for-hire. It really boomed during the war and it slowed down for a while, but now that there’s a rebellion brewing, spreading panic is back in business.”

“There’s a  _ what?” _ Cooper rubbed his temples, struggling to process so much information.

Quickly, Caldwell explained to Cooper the situation surrounding Technoblade - how he was supposedly King Nathan’s true heir, how nobody knew where he was, how he kept popping up out of nowhere and gathering more public support, and how his deals were starting to sway even some of the strongest leaders in the kingdom.

“It’s much more complicated than that, of course, even  _ I _ don’t know everything, but that’s the gist. We’re on the verge of a civil war - thank goodness, we haven’t had one of those for a hundred and twenty years or so! Things were getting boring around here,” Caldwell added dryly. “Cypress’ monarchy system is inherently flawed and it’s honestly a miracle that it hasn’t fallen apart yet. And I can say that because King Jordan likes me and he’s not going to behead me for ‘treasonous speak’. I support the king, I really do, our government just needs a few tweaks so that it’s much more stable. Do you have any  _ idea _ how many vices have committed regicide?” Caldwell waved his hands dramatically. “Over twenty! It’s honestly getting ridiculous, and if Vice Taylor suddenly decided to throw King Jordan out a window and take his throne, I would not be surprised. Betrayed, yes, but not surprised.”

Cooper gaped at Caldwell. “Uh… yeah, I agree,” he said, trying to act like he’d absorbed any of what Caldwell had been saying. “What does ‘regicide’ mean?”

“It’s the act of murdering a monarch,” Caldwell answered. “The assassination of King Nathan was a regicide. If a word ends in -ide, it probably has to do with murder.”

“Like homicide,” Cooper added, to which Caldwell nodded.

“You never did give me an answer on the tournament,” Caldwell commented as he pushed open the gate that led up to his estate. Cooper followed him in, thinking.

“I don’t know, Caldwell, I’ll think about it,” he decided.

Altrive was waiting for them at the door. “Cooper has a visitor,” he said quickly, without so much as a greeting. “A merfolk. Light blue but,” Altrive gestured to his face, “slightly yellow around the face. Also a little bit green. I have no idea whether they’re a girl or a boy, with merfolk it’s always impossible to tell.”

“Gender is a construct. We don’t value it as much as humans do.” Cooper held out his arm, where a green bracelet was still present. “Our preferred gender is shown through these armbands. What colour is this merfolk’s?”

“Blue,” Altrive answered simply.

“She’s a girl, then,” Cooper replied firmly. “I think I know who it is, but why she’d be here I have no idea.” Cooper brushed past Altrive, ignoring the glances that Altrive and Caldwell gave each other.

“She’s in the sitting room,” Altrive called after him.

As soon as Cooper stepped into view, the merfolk in the sitting room jumped to her feet. “Prince Cooper!” she started. “Before you ask, no, the high counsellor didn’t send me after you. I came of my own volition.”

Cooper pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t need a bodyguard, Toby…” he grumbled before Toby cut him off.

“You’re completely wrong. First of all, I swore my sword to protect you when you were born and I am not about to break a sacred oath. I would be disgraced. Second, you’re in a foreign kingdom by yourself! You need a bodyguard more than ever, Prince Cooper,” Toby pointed out.

Cooper had to admit that she had a point. “You followed me out here just to continue protecting me?” He raised an eyebrow, trying to change the subject so that he didn’t have to admit that Toby was right.

“Yes. Well, and to inform you that it’s not a wise idea to go home. The high counsellor is furious, and if you go back you probably won’t be allowed outside for the rest of your mortal life,” Toby replied.

“I thought you would encourage me to turn myself in. Seagulls and clamshells, Toby, you  _ reported _ me!” Cooper exclaimed, recalling the meeting he’d had with his grandfather after going to the surface.

“I’m only bound to report your movements inside the Ocean Kingdoms,” Toby said. “It’s in the contract. I don’t think the high counsellor paid attention to it because he didn’t think you’d ever leave. My first duty is to protect you, so that’s what I’m going to do.”

“What’s going on in here?” Caldwell interrupted, brushing past Cooper to stand between him and Toby.

“Er, Caldwell, this is Toby, my… my bodyguard. Toby, this is Lord Caldwell of the Western Coast,” Cooper gestured to each of them in turn. “Caldwell is letting me stay here for a little while.”

Toby gave Caldwell a curt nod. “I came to make sure that Cooper was safe,” Toby reassured him. “I mean no harm.”

Altrive appeared in the doorway as well, quickly demanding, “Do you trust her?” before Caldwell could say anything more.

Cooper nodded. “With my life,” he promised.

“In that case, there’s room here for you, Toby,” Caldwell smiled kindly and extended his hand for Toby to shake. “Altrive will show you around.” Toby looked at Caldwell’s hand curiously, before grabbing his entire forearm and shaking it fiercely. Caldwell seemed mildly startled.

“Oh, and Caldwell?” Cooper looked over at the lord, reminded of his offer from earlier. “I’d be honoured to attend the tournament with you if Toby can come as well.” Cooper glanced at Toby, who looked confused.

“Of course,” Caldwell grinned and fixed the sleeve of his coat. “We depart after lunch.”

* * *

Cooper and Toby were alone in one of the upstairs halls, where both of their rooms were situated. Cooper was sitting on one side of the hall and Toby was directly across from him on the other. Altrive had just left after showing Toby her room.

“What tournament?” Toby inquired, tilting her head to one side.

“Pardon?” Cooper looked up. He’d been preoccupied with trying to figure out what the carpet was made of.

“You said you would go to the tournament with his lordship. What tournament?” Toby repeated. She’d changed into Cyrian clothes as Cooper had done, and they looked strange and foreign on her.

“Ah... his majesty the king is hosting a jousting tourney in the capital and invited Caldwell. Caldwell extended the invitation to me as well,” Cooper explained awkwardly. “And, er, it’s just Caldwell. Not ‘Lord Caldwell’ or ‘his lordship’. He doesn’t really like titles.”

“Yes, your highness,” Toby replied.

Cooper sighed. “Will you  _ ever _ stop being so formal with me? You’ve known me since I was a kid, Toby.” He was forlorn as he spoke, drawn in by memories of his childhood. Toby, Harrow, his grandfather Allon, his parents Fabian and Dante… it was all shattered now. Everybody was gone, dead or in another kingdom, except Toby.

Toby was quiet. After a long pause, she murmured, “If you want me to drop the honorifics, your word is now stronger than the law of our kingdom,” and let it sink in. As she’d mentioned earlier, because they’d left, half of Toby’s oath did not affect them anymore.

“I do,” Cooper said briskly. “I do want you to drop them. It’s just Cooper from now on, okay?” Cooper looked up at Toby, waiting for her to reply as the silence dragged on again.

“Alright… Cooper,” Toby answered.

Cooper smiled and Toby returned it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said that TobyontheTele was going to be in here, didn't I?? Back when I first introduced the Misfits. Well, here she is :> never in my life did I expect Caldwell Tanner, Altrive, Cscoop, and TobyontheTele to be a friend group that exists in this universe, but it does and I'm very happy with it.  
> Caldwell and Toby have both individually decided that Cooper is small and needs a parental figure to help and protect him and I am just living for the platonic-familial relationships that keep cropping up out of nowhere  
> Honestly, half of them surprise me but I roll with them because it's great


	27. Another Technoblade Scene Because It Was Requested Like Four Times + Noah & Fitz Bond? I Think? It’s More Like Therapy Honestly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's been a recent influx of fanart for this story, so here's a pleasant reminder that IF YOU DRAW FANART PLEASE SEND IT TO ME, IT MAKES ME INCREDIBLY HAPPY - you can find me on Instagram, Tumblr, and Twitter under syverne!  
> Also, this AU is now a series! I've written some drabbles and one-shots in the same universe, so please go check those out if you're interested!  
> Anyway, onto the chapter :>

Techno had always been fond of birds. He wasn’t sure why. As a child, running around Cypress with ‘Uncle’ Peter (as Techno had called him then - he hadn’t called Peter ‘uncle’ in six, seven, maybe even eight years), he’d often wished that he was a bird. Then Peter gave him a history lesson on the war and Techno decided to keep his love of avian creatures to himself. It was still his dream to see a griffin, though. Perhaps when he became king, he’d be able to visit the Sky Kingdom. Peter had told him that the Windwings rode griffins during the war, much like Cyrians ride horses. Peter remembered the war, and often talked about it, but never about his own experiences. Techno didn’t want to sit his closest ally down for interrogation about a war that had happened nearly twenty years ago, but he was curious nonetheless.

Techno didn’t have a ravenmaster. He’d taken up the position himself, finding that it was the easiest way to manage all communications coming and going from the fortress. He also enjoyed simply spending time with the birds, because they didn’t ask him stupid questions or look up to him as some sort of idol. They just squawked and pecked at any exposed skin they could reach when Techno made them angry, usually when he refused to give them extra treats.

There were nine ravens housed in the fortress, but one was currently out taking a reply message to Phil in Irys. The other eight were waiting for food, which made them loud and cranky. Techno liked to talk to the birds, though never in front of anybody else. There were enough people in the world that thought he was crazy already.

“Callum, stop pecking your brother,” Techno warned one of the smaller birds, handing him a small strip of meat. The other ravens seemed to notice that he was holding food and clamoured to sneak into his bag. “ _ No, _ Whitethroat, get down.” Techno pressed one finger against the bird’s beak and pushed him back, while another one darted up to perch on Techno’s shoulder. Techno’s favourite bird was Shadowsight, a small and quiet raven that was one of the swiftest fliers.

Callum, Whitethroat, Shadowsight, Vigilance, Ezran, Viren, Sol, Scourge, and Night were all nine ravens, with Night being the one missing. She had been Techno’s first raven, from when he was quite young, so there was a distinct uncreativity that her name had compared to the other ones. Though, he supposed, ‘Whitethroat’ wasn’t exactly creative for a bird with a white neck. While lost in thought, he fed the birds from his hand before stowing the bag away again.

Vigilance perched on Techno’s arm and Techno stroked the back of her neck with a single finger. Deftly he called over his shoulder, “Alexis!”

Alexis appeared in the door. “Yes, sir?” he answered. “Is there any word from Sir Phillip?”

“No word,” Techno replied. “Phil is being conservative with his writings, as I ordered. Bring hence yesterday’s reports, if you will.” Techno had been away the previous day and so another had taken charge of the ravens. He had told Technoblade that there had been nothing of importance, but Techno wanted to check for himself.

“As you wish.” Alexis inclined his head and went from the doorway.

Techno adjusted the fur-lined collar of his sweeping, ruby-coloured coat, as the ravens had knocked it askew with their climbing on him. Vigilance pecked at his thumb and he shook her away, causing the bird to flap back to her perch. He stuck his thumb in his mouth to stem the dribble of blood and recoiled at the bitter tang. Something was amiss, he could sense it.

When Alexis returned and gave him the reports from the previous day, Techno frowned as he flipped through them. “Nothing from that dastardly Minx?” he inquired.

“Nothing, sire,” Alexis confirmed, folding his hands behind his back. Techno flipped through the letters with cold scorn.

“Hello! What’s this?” Techno exclaimed, holding one of the letters up to a nearby candle. “Oh, this is rich… intercepted, I presume… no signature, though.” He flipped it over, checking the back, before examining the front again. “Wait, there are initials. TAV… rather small, as well. Somebody wanted to hide their identity, I gather.”

“What does it read, sire?” Alexis asked. Techno could hear him trying to contain his curiosity.

“It’s addressed to a Karina Farek,” Techno observed, clicking both ‘k’s. “I don’t recognize the name, but the contents seem to be referring to some grey dealings around our dear friend King Jordan’s jousting tournament, so I glean that this Karina must be a criminal of some sort. Probably White Rose, but I wouldn’t bet on it.”

“Grey dealings?” Alexis prompted.

“Not quite black, just a little burglary and general causing of mishaps and chaos.” Techno pursed his lips. “This is fair news for us. Phil and Tommy are going to be able to use this to their advantage, as well as…” he hesitated and grimaced, “...Minx. Gods above, I hate that woman.”

“Er… who?” Alexis inquired, but Techno waved the letter in front of his face, gesturing that it didn’t matter.

“It’s of little importance. Especially to you, Alexis. My apologies if I don’t look upon you with great favour and trust - I trust no man except myself, not even Peter.” Techno barked a laugh. “In complete honesty, I’m no better than a fox myself, though even a fox may reign supreme if he is cunning enough. And I’m cunning. Oh, I am cunning…” Techno trailed off into a chuckle as he looked down at the letters again. “What do you know of Sir Carson King, Alexis?”

“He is in the king’s favour, sire, and is a knight of great merit but barely any years. That is all,” Alexis admitted.

“Well, it is a shame, then, that he shall not gain any more years.” Techno crumpled the letters in his hand and grabbed Alexis’s arm, forcing his hand out before shoving the balled papers into it. “Dispose of these by fire. Then fetch me a drink. I shall be in my chambers.”

“What will you drink, sire?” Alexis asked, his gaze following after Techno as he strode towards the door.

“Ale. Mead. Whiskey. Any alcohol that we have. I shall settle for it,” Techno flashed a sly, yet confident grin, “though I wish to drink the blood of those who plague me.”

* * *

Midway through the third day of travel, Noah ended up riding beside Fitz in the front of the wagon, to give his legs a break from hanging onto a horse. In his army days, he could have done the trip easily - but those days were long behind him. He swore he’d seen a grey hair the last time he’d checked his reflection.

“What irks you?” Noah asked simply, looking over at Fitz.

“Pardon?” Fitz replied, seeming confused.

“What’s eating you?” Noah tried again, but Fitz just shook his head. Noah sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What’s bothering you?”

“Oh.” Fitz frowned. “Do you know our names, Noah?”

Noah assumed he meant the names of the Misfits. “I know Jay, Matt, Mason, and you. Unless Fitz isn’t your real name,” Noah replied.

“It isn’t. My name’s Cameron. Though… I’m beginning to doubt if anything I know about myself is true.” Fitz slumped back against the seat. “I shouldn’t tell you anything. You’re about as trustworthy as a garden snake.”

“So are you,” Noah shot back, to which Fitz laughed.

“I suppose that’s fair.” He shrugged. “Jay, Matt, and Mason all have aliases as well, but they gave them up a couple of years ago. It just seemed a little unnecessary. Plus, ‘McCreamy’ isn’t exactly the most intimidating name.”

“ _McCreamy?_ ” Noah repeated with a laugh. “Unfortunate nickname or odd choice?”

“Unfortunate nickname. His last name’s McCready, you see, but there was an… accident involving cream way back when and Matt refused to let it drop,” Fitz explained. “Happened during a burglary when I was a little kid. Jay was cleaning cream out of his boots for months.”

“What’s Swagger’s real name?” Noah asked, turning in his seat to face Fitz. He slung one arm over the back of the seat to keep from falling.

“And there’s my dilemma,” Fitz said. “I _think_ it’s Eric, but I’ve never called him that. It just seems… weird.”

“Like calling your father by his first name instead of ‘Dad’?” Noah inquired with a teasing smile.

“Probably - I wouldn’t know, I never had a father.” Fitz paused and looked suspiciously at Noah. “Were you implying that Swagger’s my father?”

Noah shrugged. “He treats you like a son, doesn’t he?”

“He treats everybody like a son,” Fitz muttered, but he seemed troubled. “Anyway, as I was saying - I think I know his name, but I’m no longer sure. I’m not sure about anything, really. He’s been acting... suspicious.”

“Suspicious how?” Noah leaned forward and dropped his voice.

“Well, he’s never been an open book, that’s for sure,” Fitz started, “but it seems like he’s determined to leave me in the dark about everything. Even things that I have a right to know about - I _swear_ he knows something about who I am and where I came from, but he snaps at me every time I ask and insists that I’m just some orphan.”

“You don’t think that you are?” Noah prompted.

“I would if Swagger didn’t act so _strange_ about it,” Fitz replied. He sighed and reached down to pick up the reins of the horses again, flicking them once to spur the horses on. “And then there’s his face…” Fitz trailed off.

“I wonder what it’s like underneath the helmet,” Noah mused, swinging his arm back around and slouching down in the seat.

“You don’t want to know,” Fitz commented. “I only got a brief look less than a week ago - it was the first time, actually - and it was ghastly.”

“Scarred? Disfigured?” Noah asked. Truthfully, he was curious.

Fitz nodded. “In the worst possible way. It looked like burns but I can’t be sure. It’s mostly on one side, but the other side is still gaunt. His eye is completely gone, and his nose is half-twisted. I think his mouth looked normal.” Fitz paused. “It was dark,” he admitted.

“Hm,” Noah grunted. “Did he offer any-”

Fitz cut him off, his voice quiet. “Traitor. He said it was what he got for being a traitor.” Fitz looked over at Noah, his eyes narrow and cold. “Why should I trust a traitor? Why should I believe anything he tells me? I want to know what he did to deserve _that,_ ” Fitz spat.

_Ah,_ Noah thought. _So there’s the root of the problem._ “Well,” he started tentatively, “there are many different kinds of treason. Many soldiers could have been killed for desertion, or should have been. And… laws are different in other kingdoms. Perhaps he’s from Lixian.”

Fitz pondered that for a moment. “So you’re saying because he’s still alive, his crime couldn’t have been that bad? Or he isn’t a _Cyrian_ traitor, as if that makes it any better?” Fitz snickered. “Maybe he’s a Windwing traitor. I suppose that would make him an ally since all Cyrians hate Windwings. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, no?”

“It’s not impossible,” Noah pointed out with a shrug.

Fitz looked at him like he was crazy. “If I’d been living with a Windwing for eighteen years, I would have noticed by now. Don’t make me laugh, Greypoint.”

“You can call me Noah, you know,” Noah said, changing the subject. He appreciated Fitz talking to him, but there simply wasn’t enough evidence to discuss and he didn’t want to make Fitz angrier by continuing. “Calling me Greypoint sounds like I’m either your superior or somebody you want dead.”

“Who says I don’t want you dead?” Fitz replied with a serious look on his face, before breaking into a smile and roughly punching Noah in the arm. Noah assumed it was meant to be playful. “Just kidding. You’re not all bad, Noah.”

“Good to know,” Noah grumbled, rubbing the sore spot where Fitz had hit him. “You’re not the worst either.”

Fitz opened his mouth to reply, but Noah held up his hand to cut him off.

“You’re somewhere between King Nathan and Pyrocynical on the ‘bad’ scale,” Noah added.

Fitz frowned. “I… I suppose that’s fair, actually.”

Then they both laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was watching Technoblade the other day and he mentioned being thirsty for the blood of his enemies so I snatched that.  
> A friend of mine made an animation meme with Stal and Milo and it's SUPER COOL go check it out @qhosthunt on Tumblr :D  
> Thank you everybody for all the support on this story, we'll be back to Wilbur next chapter!


	28. Poor King Jordan, Honestly (I Feel Sorry For This Guy)

_ Wilbur could breathe again. _

_ Ever since coming to Irys, he’d felt constricted, almost claustrophobic. Now that he was out in the forest, he… _

_ Wait. _

_ Forest? _

_ Where  _ was _ he? _

_ Wilbur sat up in the grass, gazing around at the trees. It felt like home, but it couldn’t be. It had taken days to ride to Irys. His chest started to heave as his breathing quickened and panic started to set in. He felt like he couldn’t think straight, as if there was fog- _

_ Fog in his mind. _

_ A fuzzy feeling, as if everything was being viewed through a lens. _

_ This was a dream. _

_ Wilbur sighed and slumped back against a nearby root. He blinked a few times, relieved when his vision didn’t seem to clear. But whose dream? Was he actually having a  _ normal _ dream for once? _

_ “Gods above, just let me get a good night’s sleep…” Wilbur muttered, folding his hands over his chest. He was exhausted. The tournament would be starting in the morning and he needed all the energy he could get. At least he wasn’t visiting a nightmare. Carson’s dream had made him sick. Wilbur wondered how he coped with it. _

_ “Wilbur?” a familiar voice prompted, causing Wilbur to sigh. Of course, it wasn’t just going to be a normal dream. _

_ “Hey, Milo. Your dreams are boring,” Wilbur commented with a yawn. “It’s nice. I spent my visit in Ted’s dreams worried that I was going to get impaled by a spear or shot with an arrow.” _

_ The chestnut horse blinked. “Well, Ted did live through the war-” Milo started. “Nevermind. What are you doing here?” _

_ “I have no idea,” Wilbur admitted. “I don’t exactly pick where I end up. It’s a lottery every time.” He groaned. “I just want a normal night…” _

_ “Well, you were meaning to talk to me, weren’t you? You were asking about why I never told you about magic,” Milo reminded him.  _

_ “Oh… oh yeah, I guess,” Wilbur muttered. “Another history lesson from a horse. Fun.” _

_ “Chin up, Wilbur,” Milo sighed. “It’s important. Having magic like yours is dangerous.” _

_ “I’m a healer!” Wilbur exclaimed. “How is it dangerous?” _

_ Milo suddenly became very serious, leaning down so that his snout was closer to Wilbur’s face. “Mages, sorcerers, wizards… they were all slaughtered during the Last Great War, the one that caused the Treaty of Five to be signed. Ever since then, there haven’t been enough magic-users in Cypress. Hardly any humans learn magic because there’s nobody to teach them, and being born with magic has become less and less common in two thousand years. You’re an anomaly, Wilbur - something people don’t understand anymore.” Milo’s brow furrowed. “And when people don’t understand, they get scared.” _

_ “I’m already in danger because we’re trying to catch assassins, Milo, it’s not really a-” Wilbur started before Milo cut him off again. _

_ “Magic-users were heavily targeted during the last war, Wilbur, and not just by the opposite side. When most people think of wizards or mages they think of the Blackthorns, and most people wish that the Blackthorn Massacre had succeeded.” Milo’s brown eyes narrowed. “Do you understand now why I never told you?” _

_ Wilbur slumped. “I… I guess I do,” he murmured. “And I suppose you’re telling me to be careful with who I tell about my magic, too?” _

_ Milo nodded vigorously. “Those who already know are okay, and I would never discourage you from using your magic to save somebody’s life. But just think before you act, especially in public. Any attention is negative attention.” _

_ Wilbur folded his arms. He didn’t like being told what to do with his magic - it was  _ his,  _ after all - but Milo made a fair point. “I’ll be careful, Milo,” he promised. “Can I get some sleep now?” _

_ Milo laughed and tossed his mane. “Go ahead. Er… do you know how to leave?” _

_ “I usually wake up,” Wilbur said. “Do  _ you _ know how to-” _

_ Milo answered before he could finish. “I think so. Try imagining a doorway back into your dreams.” _

_ Wilbur got up and dusted off his pants. “Like, any door or…?” _

_ “Just something that you can go through.” Milo glanced around, then nodded to a nearby oak with a large trunk. “Put it on that tree.” _

_ The first door that popped into Wilbur’s head was the simple wooden front door of his family’s inn back home. He tried to visualize it onto the tree, using the magic techniques that Ted had advised him on, but the fuzziness of the dream was throwing him off. _

_ “Focus,” Milo reminded him before he could complain. “Close your eyes if you need to.” _

_ Wilbur shut his eyes, envisioning stepping up to the front door. He could feel exactly where the doorknob would be and slowly reached out for it on instinct. Wilbur expected his hand to pass through empty air or maybe brush the wood of the trunk, but instead, he felt the smooth metal of the knob and his eyes flew open in surprise. _

_ There was a door in the tree. _

_ It hadn’t been there a few seconds earlier. _

_ “I’ll see you in the morning, Wilbur,” Milo said cheerily, beaming at him. _

_ “Yeah… yeah, I’ll see you,” Wilbur murmured, dumbfounded. He just did that on the second try. “Uh… thanks, Milo.” Wilbur turned the doorknob and pulled the door open. There didn’t seem to be anything on the other side, just an empty white void. But something was drawing Wilbur towards it, and he knew he’d succeeded. With a deep breath, Wilbur stepped through the door. _

* * *

“Are you sure his majesty wants to see  _ me, _ Travis?” Wilbur asked, quickening his pace to chase the knight down the hall. “I haven’t even had breakfast yet.”

Travis sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Wilbur knew he was overdoing it - this was the third or fourth time he’d asked since Travis had come to fetch him. But his heart was pounding out of his chest and he couldn’t believe that King Jordan would ask to see  _ him, _ not Carson or Schlatt.

“Sorry,” Wilbur quickly apologized. “Er… where are we going?” He glanced around at the stone brick walls of the hallway. It looked just like all the others.

“King Jordan’s private study in the southeast tower,” Travis answered. “The entire southeast tower is reserved for the king and vice. His majesty’s study is for private or informal meetings.” Travis glanced at Wilbur. “Vice Taylor has a study there as well.”

Wilbur made note of that. He didn’t want to go snooping around Vice Taylor’s study, it seemed dangerous, but perhaps Carson would find it helpful. “Do you know what he wants to see me about?” Wilbur questioned.

Travis shook his head. “The king is preferring to stay as private as possible, what with the… situation.” He glanced at Wilbur. “Too many unfamiliar eyes and ears in the castle.”

“Oh, yes, that makes sense,” Wilbur replied quickly. “Even with his Crownguard, though…?” He looked over at Travis, trying to figure out if the knight was hurt by the king’s decision. Wilbur would have loved to pick Travis’ brain or recruit him into their investigation of Vice Taylor, but he suspected that Travis was far too honourable to do such a thing. So, subtlety (as well as Wilbur could manage it, having no practice) was the only thing Wilbur could work with.

“His majesty knows what he’s doing,” Travis answered evenly, betraying nothing. “Perhaps you should stop asking questions that I can’t answer, Wilbur, or else I’ll have to stick you in the catacombs,” he joked. Travis led Wilbur to a hefty wooden door at the end of the corridor, and he stopped in front of it. “I’ll wait out here. Don’t speak too loudly.”

“You really can’t come in with me?” Wilbur pleaded, looking up at the knight. He didn’t want to face the king on his own. Even when he’d met King Jordan with Carson and Schlatt by his side, his legs had been shaking. King Jordan was a great guy, Wilbur could tell as much, but that just made Wilbur even more nervous. He didn’t want to disappoint the king. “Wait, what cata-”

Travis shook his head. “You’ll do great,” he murmured with a kind smile. “Better not keep him waiting, though.” Travis reached down to open the door for Wilbur, who graciously took the handle after Travis had let go and pulled it all the way open. Wilbur heard the door close behind him and gulped.

King Jordan was sitting in an armchair in the middle of the room, with a small table between his chair and another, the second empty. On the table was a chessboard, and King Jordan seemed to be playing a game with himself, as both black and white pieces had been moved. His head was resting in his hand and his free hand hovered over the board, so Wilbur assumed that he was pondering his next move. His token gold-laced red coat was thrown haphazardly over the back of a wooden chair along one of the walls, leaving King Jordan in a simple white tunic that was unlaced near the top and form-fitting black pants. Instead of the crown that Wilbur had seen him wear in the throne room and at dinner, he was wearing a simple gold circlet around his brow, which let his hair curl, unkempt, over the edge. All in all, Wilbur thought he looked troubled.

Wilbur cleared his throat. “Your majesty,” he greeted, and after a momentary pause, he dropped to his knee out of respect. He still didn’t know what the king wanted him for, so best not to anger him in case it wasn’t good. Wilbur was glad that Carson wasn’t there to judge him on his hesitation.

King Jordan glanced up and waved a hand dismissively. He sighed in defeat. “Oh, get up, get up,” he insisted. “Come, sit.” The king gestured to the empty chair on the other side of the chessboard.

Confused, Wilbur got back to his feet and walked over to the armchair. He sat down, but he still felt on-edge. “What do you wish to speak with me about, your majesty?” Wilbur asked, curling his fingers around the arms of the chair. He felt small in the chair, as if it had been built for somebody much bigger than he was. Looking at King Jordan’s physique, Wilbur supposed that it had been.

King Jordan didn’t answer immediately, reaching for a white piece on the board - a pawn - and moving it one square. Then he looked up at Wilbur and murmured, “Do you know how to play chess, Wilbur Soot?” before returning to his study of the board. Wilbur couldn’t help thinking that even if King Jordan was a greatly-respected monarch, playing chess with himself was a little… odd.

Wilbur shifted in the armchair. “Yes, yes I do,” Wilbur answered quickly. He was anxious to get to the point, but the king seemed to have something else on his mind, and Wilbur was not about to hurry the most powerful man in the kingdom. “And… just Wilbur is fine, your majesty.”

King Jordan hummed, removed his chin from his hand, and sat back in the armchair. “Then you know that to win, one must capture the opposing player’s king,” King Jordan said, “and also that the king is the only piece in the game that cannot be sacrificed in order to win.” He squinted at the board and reached for a black bishop, which he slid loudly across the board as he spoke. “Every other piece is expendable. Every other piece can be strategically given up to capture the opposing king.  _ Every single one, _ except for the king.”

“I…” Wilbur was failing to understand the purpose of this talk. “Yes, I know that. Your majesty, what-” he started, before King Jordan cut him off in a low voice that, despite being quiet, captured Wilbur’s attention instantly.

“I imagine this brewing war like a game of chess,” King Jordan explained, quickly rearranging pieces on the board until they were set up in an odd format, like a game that had been put on hold. It didn’t mean anything to Wilbur, but King Jordan looked at it like it would decide whether he lived or died. Perhaps it would. “Technoblade is the white king. I am the black king. This war doesn’t end until one of us is captured… or dead.”

Wilbur was beginning to comprehend. “Vice Taylor is the black queen,” he ventured, to which King Jordan nodded. “The Crownguard are the black knights.” Wilbur glanced over the board again, this new knowledge helping the layout make more sense.

“And so on and so forth,” King Jordan finished, waving one hand to indicate that going on wasn’t needed. “At first, the chess analogy worked well. Two sides, dancing around each other and trying to take each other’s pieces without making a full-frontal attack at either king. But in chess, one cannot risk a king in order to win. There is no ‘grey’ side, either. Pieces cannot change allegiances.” In one smooth motion of his arm, King Jordan swept all of the pieces off of the board and onto the floor, creating a great clatter that made Wilbur jump. “So now I can’t make sense of all of this anymore. I thought I could trust my people. Things were so stark during the War of Rah’ōxah, with one’s species determining which side one fought for… at least until the end, but this… this is a whole other playing field. This is a whole other game. We are all humans, fighting each other. Who do I know that I can trust?” King Jordan demanded.

Wilbur sat in silence for a few seconds, before looking down at his hands and replying honestly, “I don’t know, your majesty.” He heard the creak of a chair and looked up again, seeing King Jordan slumped in his chair and seeming puzzled by Wilbur’s response.

Then the king laughed, taking Wilbur by surprise. “I see that I chose the right person to talk to, then. Any regular person would have argued their case. Vice Taylor would have. Sir Carson would have. Any of the Crownguard would have. But you… do you doubt your trustworthiness, Wilbur?” King Jordan asked, blinking curiously at him.

Wilbur wrung his hands together nervously. “Well… I’m not sure you should trust  _ anybody _ , your majesty,” he ventured quietly. “I shouldn’t either. I only met Sir Carson a week or so ago. How do I know for sure that I can trust him and Schlatt? How do I know that I can trust  _ you, _ your majesty?” Wilbur hoped that he hadn’t overstepped.

King Jordan scratched his chin. “You make a very, very valid point, Wilbur. I asked you here because I was hoping a younger man like you would have a new perspective on things that us old folk lack. I appear to have been correct… or lucky, perhaps?” King Jordan leaned forward and steepled his hands in his lap. “Maybe the question isn’t who should I trust… it’s who  _ shouldn’t _ I trust, in particular.” The king gestured to Wilbur. “Go ahead. Give me your thoughts. I won’t rebuke you.”

Wilbur ground his teeth together. Should he say it? Should he bring his and Carson’s concerns about Vice Taylor to the king? King Jordan was looking at him expectantly, and if Wilbur could make him more cautious around the vice… it would be a good thing, wouldn’t it? Slowly, Wilbur started to speak in a hushed tone. “I… well, honestly, and with no offence towards him… I think you should be careful around Vice Taylor.”

Wilbur could tell that the king was keeping his emotions guarded. “Why do you think that?” King Jordan inquired, lowering his voice to match Wilbur’s. Both seemed to be overly conscious of the fact that Vice Taylor’s study was also located in the tower.

“Thievery isn’t really Techonblade’s style,” Wilbur pointed out. “Somebody’s trying to unseat you from the inside, and he’s in a prime position to benefit from the chaos. I know he’s your vice and that you need to count on him in a crisis… but there’s something up. Or if not Vice Taylor, somebody else close to you.” Though Wilbur was fairly sure that Vice Taylor was at least somewhat suspicious at this point.

King Jordan seemed to consider Wilbur’s words. “Thank you, Wilbur,” he murmured. “You should go meet up with Sir Carson and Schlatt before they wonder where you’ve disappeared to. Tell nobody about this meeting, alright? I can’t have word spreading that I’m worried, that would be terrible for morale. And you know, going against a king’s word is treason.”

Wilbur would have laughed nervously if it wasn’t for King Jordan’s serious stare. “Yes- yes, your majesty,” he replied quickly, scrambling from the armchair and backing towards the door. “I’ll see you at the tournament this afternoon, your majesty.”

But King Jordan didn’t respond, his only indication that he had heard Wilbur at all a simple wave of his hand, too focused on retrieving his chess pieces from the floor.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jordan is just having such a rough time, man, he doesn't deserve any of this-  
> Please feel free to ask me questions and/or share your theories about my story/universe! I really enjoy sharing the finer points of my worldbuilding that I can't always fit into the story.  
> 


	29. Cooper Has Multiple Fights With Toby + Charlie Reaches Irys & Introduces Grace

“With all due respect, I think it’s a terrible idea,” Toby exclaimed, leaping up from her seat. “Venturing to the capital of another kingdom with a lord you barely know with the threat of war looming over the Crown? Cooper, you’re insane.”

“I’m glad you’re being blunt with me,” Cooper grumbled. They’d been arguing about this for at least ten minutes, after attending a tense lunch and Toby practically dragging Cooper out of the room. “I need to get packed, Toby, can we just move-”

“No, we can’t move on!” Toby snapped. “I am in charge of your safety and you are not acting responsibly, Cooper! I glossed over it before lunch because I was  _ hoping _ that you would change your mind, but apparently not!” Toby’s canines flashed as she spoke and Cooper was instantly intimidated.

“Toby,  _ listen- _ ” Cooper pleaded, but Toby refused to hear him.

“No,  _ you _ listen! Cooper, you’re the closest thing I’ll ever have to a son and I know that you want to experience your new freedom, but this is a terrible idea,” Toby said. “You are literally going to walk into the most dangerous place in this entire kingdom.”

“Do you think that Caldwell would ask me along if it was dangerous?” Cooper demanded, thrumming with a wave of hot fury.

“Do you believe that he  _ wouldn’t? _ ” Toby shot back. “You’ve only just met the man, Cooper! What, he adopts one street rat and you suddenly believe that he’s perfect?”

“He’s not perfect, but he’s better than Grandfather!” Cooper shouted, his hands curling into fists. Cooper’s throat was starting to hurt; he still wasn’t used to using it, especially not for yelling.

Toby grit her teeth together. “Cooper…  _ most _ people are better than your grandfather,” she reminded him sourly. “I can’t stop you from going if you insist, but when something goes wrong and you end up in danger, I will gloat about this. And then I will save your life because it’s my job.”

“Thanks, Toby,” Cooper replied. “I’m… I’m not a child anymore. I can make my own decisions.” He slowly got out of his chair and tried to ignore the hurt that flashed in Toby’s gaze. “I really have to get packed. Sorry, Toby.” He fumbled over the apology and fled from the room.

A shout from the stairs in the entrance hall drew Cooper’s attention. It was Altrive, calling Cooper’s name. “Hey!” Altrive exclaimed once he saw the green merfolk. “I was just looking for you. Caldwell’s got the carriage and everything ready, he’s just waiting for you… and Toby, if she’s coming.”

“Toby’s coming, yeah,” Cooper muttered, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his coat. He had no idea how Altrive managed to wander around in late spring in a short-sleeved tunic and long breeches. Cooper was  _ freezing. _ “We were just… talking. I’ll grab my stuff and be out in two shakes.”

Altrive shot Cooper a thumbs-up. “Sounds good. Maybe I’ll finally be able to get some work done around here while his lordship’s gone…” Altrive rolled his eyes. “He likes to clean, but fixing things is not his strong suit. There’s a stair that’s been creaking for almost half a year and the back of the fireplace is crumbling.”

Cooper started up the stairs. “At least he’s making an effort.” He shrugged. “Back… back in the Ocean Kingdoms, whoever’s currently royalty doesn’t have to do  _ anything. _ ”

“‘ _ Currently _ royalty’?” Altrive repeated, following Cooper. “What do you mean?”

“High councillors are elected, not born into it.” Cooper scratched the back of his head. “I’m only a prince because my grandfather is currently in charge. I wasn’t born a prince and I won’t be a prince if my grandfather doesn’t win the next election.”

“That’s… weird,” Altrive commented. “I can’t even imagine how that would work.” He bit his lip. “I guess you wouldn’t have any of the legacy issues that we have here. The ‘true heir’ nonsense and all that.”

“Are you a King Jordan supporter or are you in favour of…” Cooper trailed off, unsure if the question was too personal or something that Altrive wasn’t supposed to answer.

Altrive laughed, taking Cooper by surprise. “I couldn’t care less who’s sitting on the throne. The only king I would support is Lord Caldwell, if he somehow ended up in charge. Bigshot royalty types are all the same,” Altrive said.

Cooper hummed. “I respect that.” He hopped up the last few steps on the stairs. “Could you tell Caldwell that I’ll be there in a few minutes?” Cooper looked back at Altrive, who was standing on the landing between the two floors.

Altrive nodded. “There’s a trunk in the room for you, by the way. I hope it’s big enough.”

“Thanks, Al,” Cooper replied with a grin.

* * *

Cooper hauled the trunk, now partially full of his things, down the front steps of Caldwell’s manor and across the lawn to the front gate. The lord of the Western Coast was leaning against a simplistic wooden carriage, spectacles hanging precariously from his nose. He looked almost as if he were sleeping, his brown hair tousled and unkempt. The gate creaked as Cooper pushed through and Caldwell’s eyes flew open. He raised his hand in a silent gesture of greeting, which Cooper returned.

“All set?” Caldwell asked, walking around to the back of the carriage and unlatching the door. “You can put your trunk in here.” He tapped on the wood, holding the door open for Cooper.

“I didn’t have much,” Cooper muttered sheepishly, heaving his trunk up into the back. He adjusted his belt, making sure that the rapier Harrow had given him - the one that had belonged to his father - was secured tightly. “It’s just one night, right?”

Caldwell hummed. “Yep. We’ll be back by this time tomorrow.” He closed the door and relatched it. “Why don’t you join Toby inside, and I’ll tell Daniel that we’re all ready to go?” Caldwell prompted.

“Who’s Daniel?” Cooper asked, walking back around to the side of the carriage and reaching for the door.

“My driver,” Caldwell replied, jerking his head to one side to draw Cooper’s attention to the man tending to the horses. He was slender, with brown hair that looked as if it had never been combed, and he didn’t look up when his name was mentioned. Cooper hadn’t even noticed that he was there.

“...oh.” Somehow, Cooper had managed to forget that despite doing most of his own housework and living without servants, Caldwell was a lord. Of course, he’d have somebody else drive the carriage. “Is that his whole job?”

Caldwell shook his head. “Oh, no, I don’t travel nearly enough for that. And I prefer to go on foot around town, it’s much more inconspicuous that way. Daniel works at the stable. He’s wonderful with the horses - if I had any, I would hire him to take care of them.”

“Are horses common around here?” Cooper asked, and Caldwell looked at him quizzically.

“We wouldn’t be able to function as a kingdom without them,” the lord answered. “I just prefer to hire mine from the stables instead of keeping my own. Your kingdom uses dolphins, do they not?”

“Dolphins and sometimes sharks,” Cooper replied. “The docile kinds of sharks, mind you. Only the most fearsome merfolk would attempt to tame a great white.” There were plenty of nursery stories about heroes that rode fearsome sharks into battle, but Cooper had never known any merfolk to attempt it during his lifetime.

Caldwell hummed and turned away from Cooper, leaving Cooper to open the carriage door. Toby was already inside, sitting on one of the padded benches. There was one on either side of the carriage, facing each other. Cooper ducked down and moved inside, drawing Toby’s attention.

“Cooper,” Toby greeted sharply. Cooper realized that Toby was still annoyed that they were going at all. “Come on in, sit down.” The smile on Toby’s face was forced around the edges, but Cooper elected to pretend that everything was fine between them, and he sat down heavily on the bench across from Toby.

Then Cooper realized that there had been a question burning on his mind since Toby had arrived. “Toby… why did my parents hire you?” he asked. Toby had been his bodyguard since he was born - long before he had been royalty. It had always been a normal part of his life, but now, looking back… “Why do I need a bodyguard?”

Toby stiffened. “What makes you ask?” the merfolk shot back, eyes narrow. “You’ve never been interested before.”

_ At least she’s not angry about  _ this _ anymore, _ Cooper thought wryly. “It just doesn’t make much sense,” Cooper said. “I didn’t think about it when we were back- back in the Ocean Kingdoms, because it was so normal. But now that everything’s weird…”

Toby tugged at her loose-fitting white tunic with a sigh. “I think it’s about time I gave you this,” Toby murmured as she reached into the folds of her overcoat and retrieved a small scroll, sealed with a dollop of wax. The wax was aquamarine, identical to the shade of one of the official colours of the Ocean Kingdoms.

Cooper took the scroll from her hand tentatively. “What…” he started, turning the scroll over in his hands. The wax was imprinted with the Ocean Kingdoms’ crest as well, marking it as official and likely top secret.

Just then, the carriage door opened and Toby hissed, “Hide it!” and smacked Cooper’s hand. Cooper quickly shoved the scroll into his pocket, curiosity burning, and he cursed Caldwell for interrupting them.

“Alright, we’re-” Caldwell glanced between Toby and Cooper. “Did I come in at the wrong time?” he asked. When neither merfolk answered, he added, “Okay then,” and climbed inside. Caldwell sat down next to Toby, who seemed dissatisfied with the seating arrangement but not annoyed enough to move.

_ Keep it safe. _ Toby’s voice bubbled into Cooper’s mind and he blinked at her, surprised. They hadn’t used their telepathic connection since coming to the surface.  _ We can talk about it later, once Caldwell is gone. _

Cooper nodded, glancing at Caldwell. The lord didn’t seem to notice that anything else was going on.

The carriage suddenly lurched into movement, jolting all three passengers. “And we’re off!” Caldwell whooped.

* * *

The sudden halt yanked Charlie out of his drowsy state, pulling him forward and then bashing his head back against the wooden wall. He groaned and rubbed the back of his skull, looking around at the other inhabitants of the wagon. Matt was leaning against the wall, alert, and Mason was slumped across from Charlie, still asleep. Heavy thumps on the roof of the carriage told Charlie that somebody was up there - probably Swagger, by the weight of the footsteps. There was a slime creature asleep on Charlie’s chest - a small blue cat - and the sight of her made Charlie smile. Grace didn’t appear often without being summoned, so it must have meant something.

“Are we there yet?” Charlie mumbled, reaching up to wipe his eyes with his sleeve. He yawned. Matt eyed him and his cat suspiciously and adjusted the black cowl around his face. Charlie was too tired to think about it - he’d only fallen asleep because he’d stayed awake for as long as he could.

Fitz’ head poked inside the back of the carriage, through the thick curtain. “Yellowcloaks,” he warned, to Charlie’s confusion. “Somebody please wake up Mason - he has to pretend to be my squire. Charlie, Noah needs you. Preferably before the yellowcloaks check us over.”

“What’s a yellowcloak?” Charlie asked, slowly getting up from the floor and yawning again. Grace moved from his chest to his shoulder during the transition. Fitz eyed the cat and didn’t seem in the mood to answer.

“Get Noah to tell you,” he replied sharply. Matt had since woken Mason, and Fitz turned to him. “You remember your character?” Fitz asked, to which Mason nodded.

Charlie drew open the curtain and brushed past Fitz to hop down onto the dusty dirt road. Noah was standing beside his grey mare, Sif, looking haggled. Charlie walked up to him, letting one hand trail along the flank of his horse. Grace let out a quiet mew.

“Charlie,” Noah greeted, sounding relieved. “Just in time. The Cityguard are checking every carriage that comes in for anything… suspicious. Just in case they ask, you need a new last name. Got any ideas?”

“Soot,” Charlie answered quickly. Noah looked at him with amusement. Charlie hurried to explain. “They, uh, offered shelter to me and Pyro for a bit. Even for a few days, they were more of a family to me than the Blackthorns ever were.”

“Alright then, Charlie Soot,” Noah said, and Charlie shivered. He’d just stolen somebody else’s name. It was more than a little weird. “My brother’s on the Crownguard, so I’ll have to be especially careful. What do you think of Francis Richmond?”

Charlie snorted out a laugh. “It sounds stupid! Have you ever actually met somebody named  _ Francis _ in this day and age?” Charlie exclaimed, trying to stifle his giggles with his hand.

“Do you have a better idea?” Noah snapped, though his eyes were bright with humour.

Charlie tapped his chin. “Idiot McChickenface?” he suggested.

“ _ Absolutely _ not,” Noah objected. “An actual name that won’t get us arrested, thank you. William’s a good name, isn’t it?”

“You could pass as a William,” Charlie responded. “William… Dodge? Harper?”

Noah nodded. “William Dodge is good. Might as well just go with it. Sir William Dodge and his squire, Charlie Soot. Remember that, Charlie.” Charlie nodded, and Noah continued. “By the way, what’s up with the cat?” He gestured to Grace.

“Oh, this is Grace,” Charlie introduced. “You’ve already met Lion - well, this is another of my slimes. I have five named ones, but I can create others if I have to. There’s also Beast, Goose, and Bonk.” Charlie grinned, proud.

“And you said that  _ Francis _ was a silly name!” Noah commented with a chuckle. Charlie glared at him. “How did Grace end up with a normal name?”

“I named them when I was a little kid, alright?” Charlie said. “Grace is named after somebody I… somebody I knew once.” Charlie folded his arms. “I barely remember her.” He frowned. “That’s… weird.” He felt like he was chasing the memories around his head, but every time they were just out of reach. “I… I don’t know who she was.”

Noah’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry I asked,” he muttered, seeming just as confused as Charlie was. Noah glanced up ahead, to where a couple of knights in yellow cloaks were approaching the carriage. “Quickly, Charlie, get back inside.”

“Can I go on the roof instead?” Charlie pleaded petulantly. “I want to see this.” He was incredibly curious as to what was going to happen.

Noah seemed hesitant, but he thought about it for a moment. “Okay,” Noah answered. “But now, before I change my mind.”

_ You’re lucky I’m even asking, _ Charlie thought with a touch of playfulness. _ You’re not my dad! _ But he didn’t say it out loud, just thanked Noah quickly and darted back over to the carriage. Getting onto the roof wasn’t hard - Jay had shown him how, earlier on their journey - but some of the footholds were a bit of a stretch, and Charlie didn’t feel secure until he was fully on the roof. Charlie scrambled over to the edge that overlooked the front of the carriage, where the Misfits’ horses were, and peered over curiously.

Fitz and Mason were in the front, Fitz holding the reins and looking bored, and Mason yawning profusely. Charlie looked over and watched as Noah remounted his horse, looking as if he didn’t expect the inspection to take long. By process of elimination, Jay, Matt, and Swagger must have been inside the carriage that Charlie was sitting on top of. He couldn’t see them anywhere. As the yellowcloaks approached, Charlie ducked down slightly, trying not to draw attention to himself. Grace jumped down from his shoulder and settled herself on the roof beside him.

“State your name and what business you have in the city,” the first knight demanded, sounding even more bored than Fitz looked. Charlie couldn’t make out either of the yellowcloaks’ features, with their helmets masking most of their heads. They were both male and relatively tanned - that was all Charlie managed.

“Sir Raymond Gale,” Fitz declared swiftly, the lie rolling easily off his tongue in a way that Charlie was envious of. “This is my squire, Cole.” Mason looked up and nodded to the Cityguard knight. “We’re here for the tournament… perhaps. I haven’t quite decided yet whether or not I’m competing. I’m having trouble with my arms, you see. I might have to watch this time around.” Fitz’ confidence was such that Charlie found himself believing the story Fitz was spinning, even though Charlie knew that it wasn’t true.

“And you?” The knight walked past the Misfits’ horses to where Noah was. Noah stared directly at the knight, and Charlie drew in a sharp breath.

“Sir William Dodge,” Noah told him. “I’m with… Sir Raymond.” Charlie bit his lip, hoping that the guards didn’t pick up on Noah’s slight hesitance. “I’m here for the tournament and… to visit family.”

_ Visit family? _ Charlie thought, surprised.  _ But he hates his brother… is it just a lie, or does Noah have another reason that he decided to come to Irys? Does he have a score to settle with Sir Travis? _ He was so distracted by his thoughts that he didn’t notice the two Cityguard knights say something else to Fitz, then start back towards the gates.

“In we go!” Fitz called, snapping the reins. Charlie was knocked backwards on the roof as the stagecoach started to move. That had been easier than Charlie had expected - though he wasn’t exactly sure what he  _ had _ been expecting. They hadn’t even checked inside the carriage!

The portcullis before them was slowly cranked open and the sound of grating metal filled the air, making Charlie visibly cringe. Mason didn’t seem to be enjoying it either, but Noah and Fitz seemed able to tune it out. Soon, the gate was high enough for the carriage to be let inside. Charlie eyed the yellowcloaks on the wall, half-expecting one to realize their lie, cry out, and for the Cityguard to rush down on them. But it didn’t happen, and before long, they had passed through.

Charlie gazed around at the tightly-packed cobblestone streets, the dense, shabby housing, and the looming castle at the top of the road. He’d refused when Pyro had made the offer, but now he was in the capital anyway. “Welcome, Slimecicle,” he muttered to himself, “to Irys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is like Andrew Lloyd Webber's _Cats_... I never stop introducing new characters! Though, if I'm being completely honest, I was supposed to introduce Grace a lot earlier, I just forgot... LOL, writing is never perfect. Just like the Connor situation, I had to kind of shoehorn it in and I hope it doesn't seem too choppy to you guys.  
> At the moment, I just have to get all the POVs to line up on the same day, and then things will be able to go ahead with the tournament!  
>   
> I have a few questions for you readers, and it would be really helpful to me if y'all could answer them in the comments!  
> 1\. Order these POVs in order of favourite to least favourite: Wilbur, Charlie, Pyro, Cooper, Cyrus  
> 2\. Do you enjoy flashback sequences? Why or why not?  
> 3\. On a scale of 1 to 10, how much do you enjoy hearing about this world's lore?  
> 4\. Who do you _think_ will be the king at the end of the story? Who do you _want_ to be the king?  
> 5\. Who do you think that the masked man is?  
> Thank you so much! :D


	30. Everybody’s Finally In Irys Oh My Gosh It Took So Long Holy Crap The Plot Can Finally Go Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something that must be addressed:  
> I am aware of the situation surrounding Voiceover Pete. However, due to the nature of the character he is playing in this story, I have elected to keep him in it. He is already an antagonist, and will not receive a redemption arc.  
> Thank you.

_ Cyrus was dreaming of home. Home, where he could soar above the clouds for hours, watching storms pass beneath him. Home, where he and Peter and Jaiden were best friends, playing and competing for hours on end. Home, where the war couldn’t touch him. Home, where he could never go back to. _

_ It was the day he and Peter were assigned their mission. Cyrus had been brimming with excitement for weeks, ever since the queen had first issued the summons. He and Peter, spies in the Cyrian army, helping their kingdom win the war. It was every young Windwing’s dream… or perhaps just Cyrus’. _

_ Peter met him outside. “Cy!” Peter greeted brightly, his hands on his hips. He was in full human form, though his hair retained the white-grey of his avian plumage, making him look a hundred years older. “This is it, Cy. We’re finally going to do something. We’re going to fight!” Peter was elated, barking out the choppy Windwing language with ease. _

_ Cyrus scratched his head, ruffling his jet-black hair. He directly contrasted Peter, and Jaiden often joked that they balanced each other out in more ways than just hair colour. If any other Windwing had Peter’s personality, Cyrus was sure he would hate them. But because it was Peter, he was Cyrus’ best friend. “But we’re not going to fight, Pete,” Cyrus reminded him. “We’re going to be undercover.” _

_ “That’s just semantics,” Peter dismissed, waving one hand. “Alright,  _ we _ might not be fighting, but our information will help the rest of our species fight the war. I can’t wait to be a knight, can’t you, Cy? Even if we’ll be knights of another kingdom. I’ve always wanted to be a knight.” The Sky Kingdom didn’t have knights. They were often compared to pirates, with their skyships. Cyrus had always wanted to be the captain of a skyship. He’d never thought about being a knight. _

_ “I didn’t really think about it, Pete,” Cyrus admitted. “Maybe after this, I’ll be able to get my own ship. Would the queen give me a ship after the war if I asked nicely?” Cyrus blinked, imagining. He could practically smell a new ship in front of him, dazzling in the sunlight, with crisp new sails and- _

_ Peter’s laugh interrupted his daydream. “Oh, of course!” he exclaimed. “She’s going to reward us handsomely for our work - didn’t you read the letter? You won’t be able to buy one ship… you’ll be able to buy  _ five _ ships, and crews to go with them!” _

_ “I read the letter,” Cyrus grumbled. “Would you be my first mate on my ship, then, Pete? It’s not as great as being a knight, I’m sure, but…” Cyrus looked at his friend hopefully. _

_ Peter’s eyes glinted with an emotion that Cyrus didn’t recognize. He reached forward and clasped both of Cyrus’ hands in his. “I’d be honoured, Captain Cyrus,” Peter replied. He quickly let go of Cyrus’ hands and gave him a two-fingered salute. _

_ Cyrus laughed. “We mustn’t keep the queen waiting,” he said. “Come on, first mate.” He smiled at Peter, and Peter returned the sentiment with a wide grin. _

_ Still asleep, still dreaming, but yanked out of the memory, Cyrus was choked with emotion. The last time he had seen Peter, it had been in the ruins of a burned house, standing over the body of the mother of Nathan’s bastard son. Cyrus had never received his ship, nor his captaincy. And Peter had never become his first mate. Instead, Cyrus’ best friend had attempted to murder him, on the last night of the war. _

* * *

Cooper had expected the ride to Irys to be tense, uncomfortable, and full of Toby staring daggers at him. Instead, Caldwell took him by surprise and managed to strike up a conversation with Cooper’s prickly bodyguard, and though it took quite a few bad jokes, he managed to bring a smile to her face. Cooper watched the interaction with rapt attention, trying to figure out how Caldwell was managing it. He seemed so natural and genuine, so much so that if Cooper hadn’t had green scales already, he may have turned green with envy.

Cooper wanted to contribute to the conversation, but the scroll in his pocket occupied a greater part of his mind. He desperately wanted to know what was printed on the thin, waterproof paper. Could it be words from his parents? The thought of being able to hear his fathers again, even through something as mundane as an old scroll, made Cooper’s heart pound. His hand found its way around the hilt of his father’s, Lucio’s, rapier… though, now, in truth, it was Cooper’s rapier. Maybe being away from the ocean  _ was _ helping. He was thinking about his parents now, and the thoughts didn’t claw bloody lines across his heart like they once had. Instead, the pain was dull, more of an aching yearning than anything else.

He leaned against the window, staring out at the rolling scenery as it passed. He felt like he saw the whole kingdom go by - moors, with tussocks and clumps of heather; forests, where unfamiliar animals danced and howled; lakes, their surfaces as clear as polished glass; cities, with many signs of life and people that waved at their carriage as they went by; and pure, untouched mountains, the most stunning sight that Cooper had ever seen, their peaks seeming to scrape the very sky that hung over their heads. He saw more and more signs of life as they drew closer to the capital - farms here and there turned into a consistent stream, then into small pockets of houses, then to villages and towns. Cooper spent most of the ride with his jaw open in a silent ‘o’ sound, gawking at every sight.

They made it into the capital with ease. Caldwell barely had to speak his name before the gate was raised. No questions were asked about Cooper and Toby. There was one sideways glance at the merfolk prince from a fair-skinned guard with a scowl, but that was all. Cooper found the architecture of Irys fascinating - it was strikingly different from that of the merfolk capital. For one, there was so much  _ wood. _ For another, it was built horizontally, expanding in a circle, instead of vertically. Cooper had never seen anything like it.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Caldwell asked, catching Cooper’s eye. “Just wait until you see the castle! It had to be partially rebuilt after the Second Great Burning in 1632, which was during the time of the great architect Roland Cartwright, and the king hired him to head the project. Legend has it that Cartwright designed the city’s catacombs as well, which is why they’re nearly impossible to navigate.” Caldwell’s facts might have been boring to any other, but Cooper, having grown up on one set of merfolk history scrolls, listened attentively.

“Catacombs?” Cooper repeated. “Like… tunnels?” Cooper glanced down at the floor of the carriage, trying to imagine what could be beneath the road.

“Yes, but all entry is barred. It has been forbidden to enter the catacombs without explicit permission from the king since there was a string of disappearances in 1791. No foul play was suspected, just a handful of adventurous souls venturing too far and not being able to find their way back out,” Caldwell explained. He leaned forward, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Just between you and me, Cooper…” he glanced playfully at Toby, who pretended not to hear. “The king is attempting to map the catacombs. He’s got one of his best men down there - a vampire. A vampire can’t die of starvation, dehydration, nor suffocation. Soon enough, there will be secret routes in and out of the city for the Crown to use in case of an emergency… such as another Great Burning.”

Cooper gulped. “Do… do Great Burnings happen often?” he asked, twining his fingers together nervously. Fires had never been a problem underwater. He’d never even  _ seen _ fire outside of illustrations in scrolls.

Caldwell laughed. “Oh, no, no!” he reassured Cooper quickly. “We’ve only had two, and after the second one, precautions were taken to make sure that it never happens again. The only chance there is of another Great Burning is if an enemy force decides to firebomb the city, which is unlikely since we’re at peace right now.” Cooper didn’t like the sound of firebombs, but Caldwell’s talk of peace helped settle his nerves.  _ Even if somebody’s trying to kill the king, _ Cooper’s mind whispered.

“Where will we be staying?” Toby asked, and Cooper was glad for her help in steering the conversation in another direction.

Caldwell clapped his hands together. “The king has set aside rooms for us in the castle. One for me and one for you two. I hope you don’t mind sharing.” Caldwell glanced between the two merfolk.

“Of course not, I’m his bodyguard,” Toby replied indignantly. “I was going to insist on it anyway.” She glanced at Cooper. “Before you comment on it, no, I won’t leave you alone in a foreign kingdom, even if you ask nicely.”

Cooper sighed dramatically. “Shame. I was going to go off and get tremendously drunk as soon as you weren’t looking. My grandfather never let me drink, even though I’m allowed to under the laws.” Cooper grinned while Toby glared at him.

Caldwell smiled mischievously. “Perhaps I can arrange something,” he said, with a wink to Toby. “The king always has alcohol at his banquets, after all.”

“I am not humouring this,” Toby declared angrily. The conversation dropped off, and Cooper turned his attention to the sounds of the city - the steady clop of the horses’ hooves on the cobbled stone road and the whinnying of mares and stallions; the steady din of people talking, shouting, and laughing; and the strange sounds of many animals that Cooper didn’t recognize. The carriage climbed higher up the road, towards the centre of the city and the castle.

Slowly, the carriage drew to a halt, and Daniel’s voice rang out from the front. “We’re here!” he chimed, and Cooper heard footsteps crunch on the ground. The door was opened from the outside and Caldwell quickly exited. He said something to Daniel that Cooper couldn’t make out, and Daniel disappeared again.

“I’ll help you down, it’s a bit of a jump,” Caldwell offered, beckoning to Cooper. Cooper got up and inched his way to the door, gratefully taking the hand that Caldwell had extended to him. The courtyard was busier than Cooper had expected, with warriors of all ages and servants bustling about. In a way, it wasn’t much different from the palace where Cooper had been living, if all the merfolk had been replaced with humans.

Cooper turned around and watched as Toby rejected Caldwell’s hand with a glare. She jumped down and Cooper knew she was secretly regretting it, because of the way she landed off-balance, but Toby was too proud to ever admit it. Especially not to a Cyrian lord.

“I want to show you the view from the observatory,” Caldwell started, unbothered by Toby’s prickliness. “I always make sure to go up there when I come to Irys. The tournament will be starting soon, so we’ll have to hurry.” When Cooper looked around, he realized that most of the knights he could see were on their way out of the castle. Caldwell started towards the castle wall and Cooper made to follow him. “Daniel will take care of the carriage. Come along!”

* * *

They’d stowed the coach in an alley and left Swagger to watch over it - he was the most conspicuous of all of them, with his reluctance to remove his signature helmet. Jay had also insisted on staying back with him, though Charlie wasn’t sure why. Fitz had shaved his beard, which still made Charlie do a double-take every time he saw him. Before, Charlie had been stunned to find out that he and Fitz were relatively the same age. Now, he could believe it.

“Keep your heads down and act like you’re supposed to be here,” Fitz had told them before they’d set out. “Blend in.” Then he’d snapped at Mason and made the youngest rogue leave his red scarf in the carriage, which was when Charlie tuned out.

Noah seemed unusually jumpy, with a deep emerald cloak pulled closely over his head. Charlie was beginning to wonder if coming to the capital with a band of wanted criminals had been a foolish and terrible idea - but he still tried to match the Misfits’ confidence.

“Down here,” Fitz hissed from up ahead, turning down a short flight of stairs that led away from the main road. Mason and Matt went down after him, then Noah and Charlie. It took Charlie a moment to take in what he was seeing - a narrow road underneath the building above, with apartments lining each wall.

_ I guess they had to get creative, _ Charlie thought, frowning as he looked at the shoddy workmanship. He didn’t mention it out loud, though - instead, he pulled out his notebook, which he’d since had to bind with twine due to the number of loose pages tucked inside. “It’s 842,” he said, pulling out the letter from their contact. “If he’s not legit, I have a list of others, but this one seemed the most reliable.”

Fitz humphed and checked the numbers on the doors. “This one,” he called, and Charlie hurried to join him. The metal plate that had the apartment number on it was rusted so badly that Charlie had to squint to read it, and the wood of the door was chipped and cracked. Fitz lifted his hand and rapped on the door, and Charlie gulped nervously. Charlie was reassured when Noah appeared at his side.

Charlie heard thumping from inside and then a creak as the door was opened, just enough for whoever was inside to look out at them. The door had a chain lock, Charlie noted.

“Who’s there?” the man demanded, voice thick with an accent. Charlie blinked, unsure if he should answer or let Fitz do it. Luckily, Noah jumped in before either of them could hesitate for too long.

“Noah Greypoint,” Noah replied. “It’s been a while, Handforth.” Charlie glanced over at Noah, wondering how they knew each other. Noah spoke like this was an old friend.

The door was closed again and Charlie heard the sliding of a lock being opened. Then it opened fully, revealing an average-looking man with a beard. “Call me Karl,” he insisted, looking directly at Noah. “Come inside and bring your friends.” Karl stepped to the side, holding the door for them.

Noah went in first, then Fitz and Mason. Charlie looked at Matt, who said, “I’ll keep an eye out here. Can’t be too careful,” to which Karl nodded approvingly. Charlie stepped inside gingerly, trying not to stare at Karl.

“This is Fitz and Mason,” Noah explained to Karl, gesturing to each person as he named them. “The one outside is Matt, and this is Charlie. There are two others, but they stayed behind to watch over the wagon.” Charlie pretended that he wasn’t listening, taking a quick moment to look around. The apartment looked like a whirlwind had been through it - things were everywhere, covering every surface. An unnecessary amount of rugs covered the floor.

“Nice to meet you,” Karl replied. “Do any of you want tea? Maybe coffee? You can sit down if you’d like.” Karl gestured to a ratty sofa and Charlie was relieved when Noah declined for all of them.

“We’d like to be done as soon as possible,” Noah said. “Do you remember what my message was about?” Noah crossed his arms.

Karl sighed. “Always in a hurry, you are. Even during the war, you were always rushing to do something or go somewhere. Yeah, I remember. You wanted to know about a creepy fellow with a mask that might’ve been around. Something about danger?”

“The masked man kidnapped my cousin,” Charlie blurted. “We’re trying to get him back. Anything you can do to help would be wonderful.” He glanced nervously at Noah, hoping he wasn’t jumping in too soon.

Karl nodded slowly. “Ah, a rescue mission. Yeah, I’ll help you with that. See, this is technically a secret, but I’m not very good at keeping secrets. Besides, if a man’s life is in danger, I think Tom and Jordan can let it slide,” Karl said.

“Jordan? The  _ king?” _ Mason asked, and Karl laughed.

“I’ve known him for longer than he was the king, kid. He’ll always be Jordan to me, not ‘his majesty’ or ‘his royal highness’ or whatever I’m supposed to call him. And you’re probably wondering why a friend of the king would live in a dump like this.” Karl spread his arms, gesturing around at the room. “I’ll show you why, but you can’t go around spreading this, alright? I’m only doing this because it might help save your cousin’s life.” Karl glanced at Charlie.

“Get on with it,” Fitz huffed, sounding annoyed. Noah glared at him.

Karl knelt and grabbed one of the heavy, thick rugs from the ground. With a heave, he drew it away, revealing a huge wooden trapdoor in the floor of the apartment. Karl dusted off his knees and stood up again, looking around at Fitz, Mason, Noah, and Charlie. Charlie leaned forward curiously.

“The catacombs were closed off years ago. This is one of the last maintained ways in and out,” Karl announced triumphantly. “My friend works down there. It’s him that told me about the shadow with the mask. He’s seen it, lurking, but hasn’t been able to catch it yet. If you want to find your cousin… well, I’d bet a lot of money he’s in the tunnels somewhere. There’s so much down there that hasn’t been uncovered yet.” Karl quickly kicked the rug back over the trapdoor. “Civilians aren’t supposed to be allowed down there, but I know how you can navigate it safely. As long as you’re fast, there’s no reason for the king to know, right?”

Charlie blinked. This was better than he could have hoped. He turned to look at Noah and Fitz, eyes aglow. “He must be down there!” Charlie declared. “It’s the perfect place for the masked man to keep him!” He looked back at Karl. “When can we go?”

“Tomorrow morning at the earliest,” Karl answered before Noah or Fitz could interrupt. “I’ve got a check-in with my friend scheduled for tonight. There are so many tunnels that if he gets a night’s head start, you’ll never run into him.”

“We’ve come this far,” Noah said, eyeing Fitz. “There’s no reason why we shouldn’t investigate. Besides, when has the law ever stopped your group?” Noah smirked.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like in the catacombs,” Fitz mused. “Very well. We’ll come back in the morning. Do you know anywhere we could stay?” He directed the question at Karl.

Karl shook his head. “Everything’s full up because of the tournament. I’d offer you space here, but I don’t have much room as it is, and my friend might get suspicious. You’re better off sleeping in your carriage. Saves somebody from having to watch over it, as well,” Karl told them.

Charlie groaned. Another night of sleeping on the hard floor of the wagon.  _ Wonderful. Just wonderful.  _ His back already ached from their travel.

Karl seemed to catch on to Charlie’s feelings, because he added, “I can lend you some blankets and pillows, though. As you can see, I have quite a lot just laying around. It’s the least I can do for an old pal.”

“You’re already doing too much,” Noah murmured, “but thanks, Karl.” Noah smiled. “Maybe we could get a drink sometime and catch up after this is done.”

Karl tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Y’know, I’d like that,” he admitted. “I’d like to find out how you ended up with this lot.” Karl gestured to Fitz, Mason, and Charlie.

“Thank you so much, sir,” Charlie said. “You might have just saved Pyro’s life.”

Karl didn’t seem excited. “Be careful,” he warned, tone serious. “Even the king doesn’t know what’s lurking in the tunnels. Sometimes I hear howls at night. Not human, not animal, something… else.”

“Lixianite?” Noah put in.

“No,” Karl answered, shaking his head. “Whatever it is, I hope you never meet it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally... the tournament can go ahead! Next chapter will focus on Wilbur and all that. I'm super excited - one of the scenes I've had planned since the very first story concepts will be happening extremely soon!  
> Also, Karl is here now. I guess. LOL.  
> If you're enjoying the story, please remember to subscribe for email notifications when I update. I also always really appreciate all the comments, kudos, and bookmarks I get, so consider leaving one or more to support me!


	31. Wilbur Is A Dirty Crime Boy Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter took so long! I have summer school and these next chapters are really important, which means that I want to get them perfect before I post :>

Cooper hadn’t meant to start eavesdropping. But Caldwell and Toby were in the middle of a heated conversation about something he didn’t understand, and the strange, humanoid creature with white fur and curled horns had caught his attention, so he’d slipped over to where it, a knight, and a young boy with a lute strapped across his back were conversing.

“...but Schlatt and I won’t be far,” the knight was saying, adjusting the straps of his iron armour. With a jolt, Cooper realized that the knight was missing a hand. He assumed it was a war injury, from how Caldwell had spoken about the war. “Sir Alexander is staying behind to watch over the castle with the Cityguard. The other four Crownguard knights - including your friend Travis - will be at the tournament with us.” The knight’s voice was low, but not quite a whisper. Cooper moved behind some hay bales, hoping that it hid his dark green scales well enough.

“Which one is Sir Alexander again?” the boy with the lute asked. He had short, wavy brown hair that Cooper was envious of, and it bounced when he moved. He seemed nervous about something.

“The ginger,” the knight answered. “He’s the head of the Crownguard, so you’ll have to be careful. Then there’s also the Cityguard to watch out for. Vice Taylor will be at the tourney, so at least you don’t have to worry about him being in his office.” The knight paused. “As soon as you’re done, get to the tournament as fast as possible. We’re counting on you, Wilbur.”

The boy - Wilbur, Cooper now knew - bit his lip. “I’ll do my best, Carson,” he promised. Cooper shifted, trying to get a better view, and then froze as his foot caught the string bundling the hay and he stumbled. He caught himself, but not before he’d made enough noise to catch the strangers’ attention.

“We shouldn’t be talking in the open,” Schlatt, the furry creature, hissed. “Somebody is spying on us.” His fiery eyes swept over the hay that Cooper was crouched behind, and Cooper shivered.

“No, there isn’t - you’re just paranoid,” Carson replied with a wave of his hand. “We’ve talked long enough anyway. Wilbur, good luck. Try not to get caught - it’ll be a pain in my backside to explain this mess to the king. Be quick - you wouldn’t want to miss all the excitement at the tournament, eh?” Carson bumped Wilbur’s arm. “Do you have a knife?”

Wilbur quickly showed Carson something that Cooper couldn’t quite see, and he wasn’t willing to accidentally draw attention to himself again. “Good,” Carson said. “We’ll see you soon, Wilbur.” Carson’s gaze trailed over to where Cooper was hiding, and Cooper was forced to duck down again so that he couldn’t see. He heard footsteps, and when he looked back again, Wilbur was on his own.

Cooper watched as Wilbur took a deep breath and slumped down to sit on a wooden crate. Cooper recognized that look - it was the look of somebody with something weighing on their shoulders. He felt a stab of pity, remembered what Caldwell had said about meeting new people and making friends, and discreetly stepped out from behind the hay. Cooper walked up behind Wilbur, trying not to seem conspicuous. He stood next to Wilbur for a few moments, trying to figure out what to say, before deciding on forcing a cough to draw Wilbur’s attention.

Wilbur looked up at him and flinched away, startled. “Oh, hey,” Wilbur said, smiling, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re… a merman, aren’t you?”

Cooper winced. “Woah, outdated terminology, man. I’m one of the merfolk,” Cooper answered quickly. “Don’t… you can’t say that, alright?”

Wilbur’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know. I’ve never met any merfolk before,” Wilbur stammered. “I- oh gods, I really messed that up, I apologize.”

Cooper scratched the back of his head. “It’s fine as long as you remember from now on,” he replied, trying to sound kind. “I’m Cooper.” He extended his hand, before momentarily doubting himself. He couldn’t remember if shaking arms was a Cyrian custom as well. “Cooper Rayalt.” He dropped the ‘Pihs’. It sounded stupid, anyway.

Wilbur grasped his hand, taking Cooper by surprise. In merfolk tradition, it was the forearm that was grabbed, not the hand. It served as both a greeting and a presentation of a merfolk’s preferred gender. “Wilbur Soot,” Wilbur replied, shaking Cooper’s hand. “Are you… are you here for the tournament as well?”

“Yes,” Cooper answered, retracting his hand out of Wilbur’s grip and, without noticing that he was doing so, rubbed the green bracelet on his wrist with his opposite hand. “I came with Lord Caldwell and my- my friend, Toby.” The word ‘friend’ didn’t sound right, but he couldn’t come up with a term in Commonspeak that described their relationship more accurately. Toby was practically family.

“Lord Caldwell…” Wilbur’s face scrunched up in thought. “Lord of the Northern Ridge?” he tried, sounding unsure.

“Western Coast,” Cooper corrected. “You’ve never been out that way?” He glanced down at the space beside Wilbur. “May I sit down?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Wilbur replied, moving to the side to give Cooper more room. “And no, never. I grew up in the southeast, near the mountains. Lord Greyson’s jurisdiction.” Wilbur paused. “This is the furthest I’ve ever been from home. I’m Sir Carson’s… squire.”

Cooper sat down on the crate, letting the silence breathe for a few moments. He looked over to where he’d left Caldwell and Toby. They didn’t seem to have noticed that he had gone. “What’s that like? Being a squire, I mean,” Cooper said. He felt awkward, but it seemed like Wilbur did too.

“It’s… it’s nice,” Wilbur squeaked, refusing to meet Cooper’s eyes. “Um. A lot of travelling by horse. Do you have knights in the Ocean Kingdoms?”

_ Touchy subject? _ Cooper thought. “Kind of. We have the army, I guess. They’re called Swordfins.” He touched the hilt of his rapier. “My parents were Swordfins. I wanted to be one, until…” Cooper choked. Wilbur blinked at him helplessly, and Cooper felt bad for putting a stranger in this situation. Cooper coughed. “It doesn’t matter,” he ended quickly. “I wanted to see another kingdom, so here I am. The tournament just happened to be on, and I was interested.”

“Oh. Well, it’s nice to meet somebody else my age,” Wilbur said with a smile. “It’s been… weird. I have a lot of siblings at home, so I’ve never been alone like this before. My parents let us fend for ourselves - by the time they had a seventh kid, the eldest could raise the youngest. There are a couple of sets of twins in there if you’re wondering how there ended up being fifteen of us.” Wilbur let out a quiet laugh, looking wistful. “I’m the middle child.”

Cooper blinked. “That’s… wow. I don’t have  _ any _ siblings,” he commented. “I live with my grandfather.” He had the merfolk that worked around the palace, like Lydia and Scarlet, and his bodyguard, Toby, but nobody he would quite equate to a sibling. He wasn’t close enough to Lydia or Scarlet, and Toby was more like an aunt. There was Harrow, but they were also more like a parent.

Wilbur looked as if he was about to ask what happened to Cooper’s parents but then thought better of it. “Is he nice?” Wilbur asked instead, which made Cooper laugh.

“He’s horrible. Controlling, egotistical, sour…” Cooper watched Wilbur’s eyes widen, “...but it’s fine. I haven’t lived with him long and I can protect myself.”  _ But not my parents. _ Cooper flinched. “It’s mostly a legal thing, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” Wilbur murmured. “How did you manage to convince him to let you come here?”

Cooper snickered. “I didn’t. I don’t even know if he’s realized that I’m gone,” he replied, folding his arms over his chest. It kind of… hurt. He hadn’t really thought about what he’d done since he’d decided to leave.

“Oh.” Wilbur was silent for a few moments, then added, “I didn’t exactly tell my family that I was leaving, either. I told my sister and assumed that she had passed on the message.” Wilbur smiled at Cooper. “I guess we’re kind of in the same boat.”

“Guess so,” Cooper affirmed. He leaned back and let out a yawn. “I should probably get back to Caldwell and Toby before they start to worry.” He forced his mouth into a grin. “Nice to meet you, Wilbur.”

“Yeah, you too, Cooper,” Wilbur responded, glancing over at one of the nearby towers. “I might see you around.” Wilbur’s hands went to the fiddle with the strap of his lute and Cooper squinted at him, recognizing the mannerisms of somebody who was anxious. He opened his mouth to ask Wilbur something else, but Wilbur looked back at him and interrupted, saying, “I’m sorry, I… I have to go, there’s something important I have to do. Enjoy the tournament!”

Cooper watched in confused silence as Wilbur jumped to his feet and jogged to the nearest door into the castle, quickly disappearing inside. Cooper blinked. If he’d been superstitious, he would have sworn he’d just met a ghost.

_ What in Bri’isa’s name are you up to, Wilbur Soot? _

* * *

Wilbur’s heart was pounding out of his chest and he wouldn’t have been surprised if Sir Alexander could hear it down the corridor. Vice Taylor had a whole tower to himself, which meant that once he was inside, he would be mostly in the clear. But the head of the Crownguard had paused in front of the door and it was taking, frankly, a ridiculous amount of time for him to move along. Wilbur wiped his palms on his pants, trying to make them stop sweating. He was hiding beside a decorative suit of armour, and luckily, Sir Alexander hadn’t noticed him.

Wilbur had left the lute in his room, fearing that it would just make his job more difficult. He didn’t know any offensive spells anyway, so if he got caught, the lute wouldn’t help (offensive spells were what he needed the lute for, in the long run, but he was terrible at it and Ted had quickly given up trying to teach him). Though at least it had given him something to occupy his hands with - now, he had to settle for the hem of his shirt. He found himself holding his breath until Sir Alexander finally disappeared around the corner, at which time he let out a sigh and slumped against the wall.

He was grateful for the supple leather boots that let him move silently on the stone floor because it meant that he could dash along the hallway as fast as his legs could carry him without making a sound. Wilbur quickly reached the door and grabbed at the handle, ready to push inside and-

Locked.

_ Of course. _

He should have anticipated this.

Wilbur swore under his breath, ignoring the chastising voice of his mother in the back of his mind. He knelt next to the lock, musing over whether or not he could pick it. His brothers had tried to teach him how once. But he didn’t have anything to pick the lock with.

Unless…

_ Can I magic the lock open? _

He’d only really healed before, but it couldn’t be  _ that _ hard. Healing was just fitting parts back together and picking a lock involved a similar concept. Wilbur put his fingers against the keyhole and bit his lip. He closed his eyes.

“Come on,” Wilbur hissed under his breath, waiting for the tingling in his feet that signalled it was working. There was no life essence to tug on or push his magic towards. Just the cold and inanimate metal of the lock.

Wilbur hummed with annoyance, becoming more frustrated by the second. He tried to push the emotions away and focus by adding his other hand. Wilbur took a deep breath, held it, and as he released the air he  _ pushed _ with all of his might, forcing what little magic he had mustered into the lock.

_ Click. _

The door swung open and Wilbur leapt to his feet. Anxiety trickled down his spine and he glanced down the hall to make sure that nobody had seen him. Blood pounding in his ears and stunned by what he’d just done, Wilbur stepped inside Vice Taylor’s tower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wilbur. Wilbur, Wilbur, Wilbur. Breaking and entering? That's against the law, sir!!  
> All joking aside, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Comments give me life so please leave one with any questions or commentary you may have :D  
> And as a little side note, I've been adding things to the CFV series here on AO3, such as Interlude: Waglington and Grey Skies (which is on hold but I still like those chapters, and I just reuploaded them), so if you happen to be interested while waiting for the next update, go ahead and take a look!


	32. Wilbur Is A Dirty Crime Boy Pt. 2 (Feat. Minx)

Wilbur closed the door and let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He wiped the sweat from his hands onto his breeches and moved further into the office. He’d briefly been through Antvenom’s office before when the vice had summoned his group to the meeting room at the top of the tower, but he hadn’t been able to look around - Travis had taken him directly to the spiral staircase in the centre of the room and up to the next floor.

It seemed like a relatively ordinary, tidy office… other than the fact that the only window was a tiny one near the top of the wall above the fireplace, and that the door was reinforced with metal, and that the trapdoor to the next floor had multiple hefty locks on it. Either Antvenom was paranoid about being targeted by the rebels, or he had something to hide. Wilbur hoped it was the former because he wanted to be able to trust King Jordan’s right-hand man. He did! But something didn’t add up about… everything. Antvenom had acted suspiciously since the beginning, plus _somebody_ had to be helping the thieves from inside the castle and he gained the most out of it. And there was that meeting with him, that he’d claimed the king couldn’t attend, and it happened to be the one where he told Wilbur, Carson, and Schlatt to let the king die if they had to? Antvenom had subtly glossed over the fact that if Jordan died, _he_ would become king. Wilbur wanted to get to the bottom of things, but there was only so much he could do. He needed to prove Antvenom’s treachery to King Jordan.

Wilbur glanced around at the room. There was a large desk in front of the fireplace that was neatly organized with stacks of papers and a pristine quill pen resting against an inkpot. The fireplace itself was made of clean-cut stone with a spotless mantle, the ashes still smouldering. A small cabinet next to the fireplace looked to be full of various alcohols. There were shelves upon shelves of books edging the walls and a red rug covering the cobblestone floor. Between the shelves were various decorative objects, such as a banner bearing the symbol of Cypress, a sword made of a rose-tinted metal that Wilbur didn’t recognize, and a painting of...

Wilbur moved towards the art. There were three people depicted there - man, woman, and child. The man and the woman were standing with the child, just a baby, held between them. The man had light hair and glasses and the woman was blonde, and all of them looked happy. Wilbur swore that the man looked familiar, but it took him a moment to place him as the last time Wilbur had seen him, his hair had been darker and Wilbur had never seen him smile. It was Taylor Antvenom - much younger, probably before he was injured, with his wife and son. Wilbur inhaled sharply. Two of the three people in this painting were dead. This artist’s rendition was probably one of the only things Antvenom had left of them. For a moment, it made Wilbur feel guilty about poking around the vice’s office. Then he steeled himself. Everybody lost someone in the war. Losing his family didn’t exempt Antvenom from being brought to justice.

He momentarily tried to lift the painting off the wall, thinking that it would be the perfect hiding place, but it was stuck fast. Not that, then. Wilbur changed course and went over to the desk, overly conscious of the sound of his footsteps on the carpet. There had to be something in Antvenom’s office that Wilbur could exploit… but there was a chance that he would have to return to Carson and Schlatt empty-handed. Wilbur rolled up his sleeves. He wouldn’t fail. Carson and Schlatt were counting on him. King Jordan was counting on him. The entire _kingdom_ was counting on him. Wilbur hoped that it wasn’t too much weight to bear. _I can do this._

Wilbur reached the desk and started to shift through the papers, trying not to make any noticeable changes. They were mostly forms, one stack already signed, another stack waiting to be. A few invitations to various engagements. Nothing that looked incriminating. He moved onto the drawers, pushing the chair back and wincing as it scraped across the floor, and started to open them at random. Wilbur found plenty of documents that looked important as well as sets of blank paper, unopened inkwells, and unused quill pens, but again, nothing _useful._

Wilbur muttered a curse under his breath. What if they’d been wrong? He straightened up, glancing around the room for anything that looked suspicious. What if Antvenom was the wrong man? He could simply be the victim of circumstance, and it could be any one of the people residing in the castle. This could all have been a huge waste of time, and when King Jordan’s life was on the line, they couldn’t afford that. The king could _die_ and it would be Wilbur’s fault, his error, because he let a traitor slip through his hands-

He spun on his heel and leaned against the mantle of the fireplace, trying to steady himself. He had to stop worrying. Antvenom wouldn’t leave his secrets out in the open. All this meant was that they were hidden and Wilbur had to find them. Maybe a secret compartment, or even a room? The painting had been his first guess, already used up, but there were still a handful of bookcases and the fireplace. Wilbur glanced down at the coals and paused, narrowing his eyes. There was something among the black dust, crisp and recently burnt.

Wilbur dropped to his knees with a quick look over his shoulder towards the door. He grimaced and reached into the fireplace, gently feeling the coals with the back of his hand for safety’s sake. They were still warm, but not hot enough to burn. Wilbur gulped and started to sift through the ashes, searching for the tiny flickers of white paper he had seen from where he had been standing. Antvenom had burned something here. It could be nothing, or it could be Wilbur’s golden ticket.

A pile of scraps grew on the floor in front of Wilbur’s knees, becoming larger to mimic the growing amount of soot on Wilbur’s hands, arms, and face. His palms looked as if they’d been painted, but there were only a few flecks on the rest of his body. Easy enough to hide that he’d been poking around Antvenom’s fire. _Wilbur Soot, literally,_ he thought wryly as he looked at his hands. Wilbur wiped his brow with his sleeve and sat back, hoping that he’d retrieved all of the papers. Carefully, so as not to leave handprints on the floor, Wilbur gathered up the scraps and moved back to the desk.

The colour of Wilbur’s old handkerchief quickly turned from off-white to grey as he cleaned off his hands, heart pounding. Everything he’d retrieved had been torn and burnt, but maybe he could piece something together. Oh, Wilbur hoped it was helpful, and not just a receipt that Antvenom wanted rid of.

Wilbur drew up the chair and sat down, arranging the pieces in the open space on the desk. Most of the scraps looked to be nothing, but there was one that had been buried at the back of the fireplace that seemed to have gotten stuck where the flames couldn’t reach it as well as the other documents. Wilbur bit his lip as he flattened it out, careful not to tear it. Part of it had been burned away completely, but the former half was somewhat untouched. With bated breath, Wilbur read.

_TAV,_

_We’ll be there. We both support your decision to up the ante. We’re bringing the_ [the paper was burned here] _and J will keep an eye out. Everything is going according to_ [another burn] _._

_Long live the king_ [the last burn continued to cut off this sentence as well],

_K. Farek_

Wilbur reread the letter twice. Of course it had to be burned in the important places. Though Wilbur guessed that Antvenom had intended to remove the essential details. He couldn’t guess who the other person was or what they were bringing, but he assumed that ‘everything is going according to’ ended with ‘plan’. Wilbur had no idea what followed ‘long live the king’ because that seemed like a complete sentence to him. The initials TAV… Wilbur inhaled sharply. _Taylor Antvenom._ K Farek was an unfamiliar name to him, but Wilbur knew plenty of people with the ‘J’ initial. King Jordan, for one, but it was unlikely to be him. Sir Joko and Sir Joshua from the Crownguard had ‘j’ names as well. And Sir Jacob, the one that had caused trouble before the banquet. This was something.

Wilbur folded up the letter and kept it tucked into his hand as he moved to investigate the bookshelves. This was enough, he thought, but he might as well check out the rest of the room while he was there. On his way over to the shelves he had a sudden thought and toed the rug, checking to see if there was anything beneath, but it was just stone. Wilbur’s back was to the door as he started to comb through the books. He didn’t think that the walls were thick enough to harbour a secret _room,_ but there could be a compartment or something hidden between the volumes. He was so preoccupied with his search that he completely neglected to notice when the office door opened.

Cold metal dug into the side of Wilbur’s neck and he froze, eyes darting to the side, but he couldn’t see his aggressor. “The letter,” a woman’s voice with an unfamiliar accent demanded. “Now, boy, or I’ll give you something to remember me by.”

Heart pounding in his ears, Wilbur held the letter out to the side and winced as it was snatched from his hand. He heard the crinkling of paper and the blade continued to bite at Wilbur’s skin.

“Turn around,” she ordered. She moved the knife away just enough for Wilbur to slowly turn on his heel. “You’re Carson’s boy, aren’t you?” she asked. Wilbur took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. Brunette, blue eyes… it was the woman from the tavern! Wilbur had almost forgotten about her. The same murderous look filled her gaze and Wilbur gulped.

“I’m- I’m his squire,” Wilbur squeaked, the lie feeling heavy in his mouth, and she pressed the knife against his neck again. “I gave you the letter! What else do you want from me?” he said, terror creeping into his voice. Wilbur didn’t want to die and she could kill him with a flick of her wrist.

“Carson’s head on a platter,” she growled. “I have a job to do, but nobody said that I couldn’t fulfil my agenda while I’m here.” She smiled wickedly, lifted her knife, and slashed a small cut across Wilbur’s cheek. Wilbur gasped at the sting and lifted his hand to his face, feeling warm blood trickle over his fingers. “The name’s Minx. Consider that a warning. Just because you’re young doesn’t mean that I won’t hurt you. And I will hurt you if you get in my way.” Minx lifted the letter tauntingly and started to back towards the door. “Be a smart kid and don’t make me kill you, alright? Oh, and abandon Carson while you’re at it. He’s not worth the trouble,” Minx raised her chin and smirked, “and he’ll be six feet under soon anyway.” Then she turned, sheathed her knife in her belt, and sprinted from the office.

Wilbur slumped against the bookshelf, trying to catch his breath. The cut on his face was making his head spin but it didn’t feel deep. He could heal it if he managed to concentrate. Wilbur pressed his fingers against the scratch on his cheek and squeezed his eyes closed. _Breathe._ Inhale, exhale. Magic trickled up his spine and Wilbur _pushed_ in the direction of his cut. The sting slowly faded and Wilbur pulled his hand away and opened his eyes. He wiped his bloodied hand on his trousers and huffed a deep breath. The healing process had allowed him to catch up with everything that had happened.

Wilbur knew what he had to do. He had to catch Minx. He had to retrieve the letter and save Carson’s life. She intended to kill him and Wilbur wouldn’t just stand by and let it happen. He didn’t know how much time he had. _Move,_ he told himself silently, and Wilbur staggered away from the bookshelf. He was fast - he had to be, to survive with thirteen brothers - but he rectified his earlier thought and started to doubt that he could catch Minx. Chasing her, though, was a different story. He could try to keep up and alert the Crownguard, maybe - Sir Alexander was around.

He ran out of the office and slammed the door behind him, glancing around wildly to try to find Minx. Wilbur spotted her rounding the corner at the end of the hall and leapt into pursuit, heart hammering in his chest. _What are you doing?_ the sane part of Wilbur’s mind hissed. _She almost killed you and now you’re_ voluntarily _going after her?_ Wilbur shook his head to try to clear his head. He couldn’t just stand around and do nothing!

“Minx! Stop!” Wilbur shouted, turning around the corner and pushing himself to run faster. Up ahead, Minx ignored him and burst through the doors into the courtyard. Wilbur shifted to angle his shoulder towards the door and braced himself for the jolt of pain that came as he charged the wood, slamming it open again. Wilbur felt compelled to apologize to the door, but he didn’t.

Minx glanced back at him momentarily as she darted for a jet-black horse waiting by the open drawbridge. The horse whinnied and she catapulted herself onto its back, no saddle to be seen, and spurred the horse on with her knees.

Wilbur rounded on the stables. Neither Ted nor Stal were there because Carson and Schlatt had taken them to the tourney, but Wilbur’s chestnut pony was waiting patiently in his paddock. “Milo!” Wilbur called, leather boots crunching on the hard earth. “Can you catch that horse?” he asked, skidding to a halt and frantically reaching to unlock the latch.

“Who, Austin?” Milo inquired as Wilbur hauled himself into the saddle. “Stubborn with a kind heart, kind of cute-” Wilbur forcefully pulled on Milo’s reigns and jolted the horse into action, cutting off Milo’s speech in the process.

“The black stallion with the crazy lady on his back!” Wilbur explained sharply, squeezing his legs together to hold on as Milo picked up speed and charged over the short drawbridge. The saddle helped with staying on Milo’s back, but riding a horse required a surprising amount of strength. Milo had been considerate of Wilbur’s inexperience before, but now the chestnut stallion seemed to sense his urgency and charged down the road. There was a large square in front of the castle with vendors and street performers that Minx charged straight through, almost knocking over a handful of citizens. Wilbur and Milo went after her, the smaller horse able to deftly slip around people, though Wilbur shouted out apologies anyway, moving one hand to the saddle horn to keep from falling off.

Minx dipped around a corner and Wilbur followed closely after. Her horse was fast but Milo was keeping up. “She’s heading for the tournament,” Wilbur realized out loud, tightening his grip on Milo’s reins. “Can we beat her there?” He looked down at Milo and patted the side of the chestnut pony’s neck.

Milo exhaled sharply and veered to the side. “I don’t know,” the horse admitted tersely, “but we can try.” His hooves thundered on the cobbled road as he charged after Minx.

Wilbur didn’t speak again. Instead, he leaned over the saddle and kept his eyes focused on the black stallion in front of them. They were headed towards the city gate, and though Minx was able to weave and dodge through the alleys and side streets, she would have to go straight through the gate to get out. It would be the perfect opportunity to catch up with her.

“Do you have your lute- or a weapon?” Milo asked, sounding stressed and breathless.

“I, uh…” Wilbur’s lute was still inside the castle, but something was sitting in his boot that he’d almost forgotten about. “I have the knife that Travis gave me!”

Milo weaved to avoid pedestrians, slowing down briefly, before shooting after Minx again. “That’s better than nothing, thank Pegasus,” Milo sighed. 

Wilbur wasn’t great with a knife, but he was better with it than a sword or axe. He wasn’t sure about a spear - Travis was in the middle of running him through different weapons and techniques. He wouldn’t be able to hold his own against a skilled fighter like Minx, but if worse came to worse, he could take a stab at it. _No pun intended,_ Wilbur thought wryly, surprising himself.

The city wall was looming and Wilbur caught his lip with his teeth, nerves getting the better of him. This was so, so stupid… Carson and Schlatt had asked him to investigate the office, not chase down a thief and assassin. Though he wasn’t planning to fight her - Wilbur told himself that he was only going to follow her and then alert Sir Travis. If she was trying to kill Carson, that interfered with _everything._ And that didn’t even include the other job that she had mentioned.

Up ahead, Minx glared back at Wilbur. He gulped, sure that she intended to kill him if he gave her the opportunity to. She’d threatened as much in the office. Wilbur wanted the letter back, but he’d settle for just getting Minx put behind bars.

Milo snorted and put in a final burst of speed as they approached the gate. Wilbur narrowed his eyes, ready to pursue Minx to the Lists, but as she crossed the threshold, she hauled back Austin’s reins and the black stallion reared up onto his back legs with a loud whinny. This action halted Austin and by extension Minx in their tracks, and a surprised Milo swerved to avoid them, his momentum too strong to stop immediately. By the time Milo was able to slow down and turn around, Minx and Austin had vanished.

“Gods damn it all!” Wilbur cursed loudly, moving both hands back to the reins and slumping over in the saddle. “I hope Tiké _smites_ her.” Wilbur wasn’t a religious man, but when he was particularly angry, he did tend to call upon Cypress’ patron goddess to strike down the cause of his frustrations. She never replied, but it made Wilbur feel better.

“We can still inform the knights to be wary,” Milo urged him. “Quickly, before she decides to come back and hurt you for interfering.” The chestnut horse turned and started into a canter. Wilbur could sense his exhaustion from the chase.

“You’re right, Milo,” Wilbur admitted, though he was irked that Minx had escaped him so easily. He wasn’t experienced in these sorts of things, but _still…_ “I really, really don’t like her.”

“If it’s any consolation, I like most humans, but she puts me off as well,” Milo put in. “Somebody’s wronged her and she carries it with her.”

_I know who wronged her,_ Wilbur thought. _Carson._ But he didn’t voice this, because he didn’t know the whole story. He assumed that Carson’s story about being betrayed was about Minx, but the knight hadn’t gone into much detail. Wilbur tried to swallow the lump in his throat. _What if Minx is justified? What if Carson didn’t tell the whole truth?_

For the first time since leaving home, Wilbur felt alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, it's so satisfying to call on stuff I wrote about Minx ages ago and give it an actual place in the story! No hard feelings against the real Minx, by the way, this part had to be played by somebody and I thought she could play it well :D also yes, her horse is Austin from Love or Host! I try to give the horses names that relate to the character they're associated with, and because I really only know Minx from Love or Host, I decided to give Austin that role. Gosh, what an entrance for Minx... I've talked and hinted about her so much in previous chapters that I was super nervous to finally write this scene. I hope everything came across the way I intended!  
> Please leave a comment telling me what you think! I really appreciate all reader feedback and try to incorporate those things into my story to make it better. If you're not sure what to comment, here's a question for you to answer - who is your favourite antagonistic character from this story (and why)?  
> Thank you everybody so much for reading, hope to update again soon! Things are really starting to heat up and I'm super excited to share more of this narrative with all of you.


	33. Seto & Pyro Have Bro Adventures And Do Bro Things! (Feat. Some New People & Some Old People)

Pyro groaned. Sleeping against the hard rock wall of the cave never got any more comfortable - he wondered how Seto did it, as the other Blackthorn seemed to fall asleep the moment he laid down. Pyro blinked open his eyes and, without thinking, reached for the torch he knew was laying somewhere nearby, unlit, and was surprised when his hand closed around it. He was sure he had been shackled to the wall when he’d gone to sleep.

Pyro lit the torch and clambered to his feet, holding it in one hand and using his other to stabilize himself against the wall. “Seto?” he called quietly, voice echoing off of the walls. Pyro blinked his eyes furiously, trying to clear the momentary blindness that came with the addition of the light. “Seto, where the f-”

Then Pyro spotted him, pale and sickly-looking, curled up against the cave wall beside the large hole that led into the rest of their stone prison. Pyro stumbled over to him, legs not accustomed to walking after however long Pyro had spent sitting against the wall. “Seto, gods, are you alright?” Pyro passed the torch to his other hand and reached down to gently shake his slumbering form.

Relief flooded Pyro’s body as Seto began to stir. It was true that Seto didn’t look great on a usual day, and perhaps it was just the light from the torch catching him at a bad angle, but Pyro could have sworn that Seto looked worse than usual.

Seto’s eyes snapped open and they flicked up, wide, to stare at Pyro. He looked baffled. “Wha- who-” Seto stammered, glancing at Pyro’s hand on his shoulder.

“It’s me, Pyrocynical. Niall.” Pyro snapped his fingers in front of Seto’s face. “Your cousin?” They weren’t really cousins, it was more complicated than that, but they didn’t bother with trying to figure it out. Cousin worked well enough.

“Ah, yeah- gods, sorry, Pyro,” Seto muttered. “Just… just a dream. You’re…” His eyes trailed down to Pyro’s unbound hands. “You got out!” Seto observed.

“Sure did.” Pyro smirked. “Let’s get out of this stupid cave, shall we? You’ve been down here long enough.” Pyro extended his hand to help Seto up. “You’ve been around here hundreds of times in the dark. Where do we start?” He held up the torch to light up the room better.

“The hallway,” Seto answered instantly. “It’s blocked at both ends, but I took the torch over a few rests ago and it looks like there might be a seam between the blockage and the cave wall. It’s probably how the masked man gets in and out of here.” He pulled himself up with Pyro’s hand as an aid and braced himself against the wall. 

Pyro nodded. “Lead the way, Seto,” he directed.

Seto folded his arms over his chest and trudged into the passageway, with Pyro following closely after. Instead of going across the small hall into the other cave, Seto turned left and led Pyro a few paces down the corridor, before abruptly stopping as it turned into a dead end. “Here,” Seto declared. He reached out to touch the wall, before pausing. “Uh… being down here has, you know, not been great for me - I’m pretty sure my muscles are screwed up or something - so if you could do this instead…”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Pyro replied. “Hold the torch for me, will you?” He switched places with Seto and passed over the burning piece of wood, which Seto took gingerly. Pyro had noticed that Seto wasn’t very fond of the fire. He’d even said that he saw better without it, but Pyro didn’t want to spend twenty years underground just so that he could see as well as Seto.

Pyro ran his fingers along the edge of the stone, observing how it looked as if a large rock had been shoved into the gap. “Seto,” he started, slowly getting an idea, “could you get me a large piece of wood? The flatter the better.” Pyro knelt and inspected the bottom edge, trying to see how much of his hand he could fit underneath.

The light faded gradually as Seto went away, then returned with the wood Pyro had asked for. In the meantime, Pyro had stood again and was doing the same investigation on the top edge. As he took the wood from Seto, he said, “Thanks. As a wise man once said… uh, something about levers.” Pyro jabbed the wood underneath the stone, lifted his shoulders to get more leverage, and pushed down with as much force as he could. He grimaced, relieved when the plank didn’t break and the boulder started to shift.

“Move over and let me help,” Seto insisted, placing the torch on the ground. “Do you think this is actually going to work?”

“I hope so,” Pyro muttered. “We’re not strong enough to push that thing over by ourselves. If this fails, we’ll have to think of something even more genius.” Pyro forced more of his weight down onto the board. “Come on, stupid thing-”

With a creak and a slam, the boulder crashed to the ground, leaving the two Blackthorns breathing heavily and gazing at the hole in the cave wall where it had just been.

“I’ve been down here for however frickin’ long and the  _ whole time _ it was  _ that easy?” _ Seto exclaimed incredulously. “Years! Definitely years! I have been staring at that wall for  _ years _ and everything I needed to escape was sitting right under my nose.” Seto glanced sideways at Pyro. “Of course it’s some kid coming in and showing me up-”

Pyro dusted off his trousers and got up. “Stop complaining, old man,” he said, ignoring Seto’s cry of indignation, “and let’s get the hell out of here.”

* * *

Pyro brushed his free hand against the wall of the tunnel, holding the torch close. Seto was right on his heels, to the point of Pyro wanting to snap at Seto for breathing down his neck. But frankly, Pyro was too unnerved to break the silence. The tunnel walls were close on both sides and the darkness seemed to stretch on forever. Pyro swore he could hear his heart pounding in his chest.

“What was that?” Seto hissed, jolting forward to grab Pyro by the shoulder. “I don’t like this. I really don’t like this. I didn’t really- I could hear things out in the tunnels from the cave we were stuck in, occasionally, but I didn’t-”

Pyro flinched as Seto touched him. “First, don’t grab me without warning while we’re in the creepy tunnels,  _ please. _ Second, you didn’t think to  _ warn me _ that there are monsters in… wherever this is?” Pyro grumbled. “That seems like, y’know, important information!”

“I didn’t think about it!” Seto protested. “It wasn’t really a concern before!” Seto caught the hem of Pyro’s jacket with his hand. “And what else were we going to do - stay in the cave?”

Pyro sighed. “I guess you’re right,” he admitted. “I can fight anything off, so don’t you worry, cousin.” Pyro puffed out his chest, trying to appear confident. He didn’t want to admit that he’d been beaten by a handful of bandits, nor that he didn’t recognize whatever was groaning faintly in the distance.

Seto seemed sceptical. “Sure…” he drawled, and Pyro could almost hear his raised eyebrow. “How’d you get caught, then?”

“Uh… we should probably be quiet,” Pyro said hurriedly. He was glad when they turned around a corner and immediately came upon a fork, distracting both of them from continuing the conversation. “Which-”

Seto pushed past him and started towards the left. “This way,” he interrupted. “It’s where the sounds are coming from.”

Pyro’s brow furrowed. “Wouldn’t walking towards the creepy sounds be the opposite of a good idea?” he asked dryly.

“No, because there are definitely people among the monster sounds,” Seto replied, punctuating his words with a roll of his eyes. “What, can’t you hear it?” 

“Nope,” Pyro shot back. “Is that one of your magic powers? Really good hearing? Seems kind of… unhelpful.”

Seto shook his head. “Must just be a natural thing. All of my magic has to do with teleportation and portals.” He smirked and Pyro was just able to see it in the dim torchlight. “Besides, my fantastic hearing is telling us which way to go, so don’t diss it,  _ kid.” _

“I’m not a child! I’m twenty-two!” Pyro protested, but it was futile.

“If you can call me an old man, I can call you a kid. Stop complaining and follow me, squirt.” Seto spun on his heel and charged down the tunnel.

Pyro groaned and went after Seto, not wanting to let him get out of Pyro’s sight. “We’re supposed to be sticking together!” he protested. “And I don’t want to go down the tunnel with the monsters. It could be our  _ captor _ that you’re hearing, Seto-”

“I’m not turning back, so if you want to avoid splitting up, you’re coming with me. You need to learn to respect your elders.” Seto paused to shoot Pyro a grin over his shoulder. “Shut up and pass me the torch.”

“Yes,  _ sir,” _ Pyro grumbled under his breath, handing the torch to his companion. Seto took it gingerly and forged ahead down the tunnel. There was a brief pause. “Hear anything else?”

“I can’t listen while you’re talking,” Seto shot back. “Just- be quiet and I’ll let you know, okay?” Seto sighed, sounding exasperated.

Pyro fell into a huffy silence, casting a glance at the dark tunnel behind them. Everything looked the same - just endless stone and shadows, closing in on them from all sides. Pyro hoped that whatever people they ran into would be friendly. He could use some good news.

“Stop!” Seto hissed, jolting to a halt so suddenly that Pyro ran into his back. “Ow! Watch it, Pyro. People are talking around at the end of the next tunnel. I can hear the echoes. Let’s keep going, but  _ slowly, _ and don’t make unnecessary noise.”

Pyro wanted to snap that he’d been as quiet as he could be, but he ruled that staying silent was a better option. Carefully, he followed Seto up to the corner, then waited as Seto passed back the torch and peered around at whatever was there.

“Snuff that. I can see fine, so you’ll just have to trust me,” Seto murmured. “There’s light and humanoid shadows. We have to get closer, though.” Before Pyro could object, Seto had stepped around the corner and was making his way down.

Pyro put out the torch and followed Seto, anxiety welling up in his chest. He could hear the whispers that Seto had mentioned - it sounded like two men, one more forceful than the other and dominating the conversation, talking in hushed voices. He squinted into the darkness. The light looked like it was coming from a side cave and so the shadows were dim, but reflected the same information that Pyro had gleaned from the distant whispers.

They were about halfway down the tunnel when Seto stopped, causing Pyro to slam into his back again. Pyro’s lips twisted into an expression of annoyance, but he forced himself not to cry out. Seto huffed, and Pyro realized why they had stopped. The voices were clear - Seto could probably hear better than Pyro could, but even he made out most of the words.

“-think the younger one’s dangerous,” the quieter male voice was saying, his voice tinged with an accent that Pyro recognized, though it was one that many people had. Southern Cypress, Pyro identified. Pyro had a similar lilt when he spoke. “Pyromancer, I believe. They should be guarded.”

With a start, Pyro realized that they might be talking about him. He was a young pyromancer… and there weren’t many people in the tunnels to start with. Pyro’s heart sunk. That meant that one or both of these men were his and Seto’s captors.

“You should have more faith in me,” the fiercer man replied. He had more of a central-to-west accent, similar to that of Charlie and his immediate family. Charlie’s parents had stayed in Western Cypress for quite a long time, and so their children had inherited their accent. “Look, I’ve told you that I have a plan. Let me handle the wizards. You should be more worried about the demonic creatures that keep eluding you.” His tone became more barbed. “I asked you time and time again to drive them away or catch them or do  _ something, _ and yet...”

The more timid voice interrupted. “They’re demons!” he exclaimed. “They’re way more powerful than me, I swear one of them can travel through shadows or something, I’ve been trying my best, but-”

There was a loud slam and Pyro assumed that the second man had bashed his fist against a table Pyro couldn’t see. “Then try harder!” the other voice shouted. “I will not have some pesky monsters destroying my carefully-crafted plans! Figure it out, George, or maybe my agenda will have to include  _ your _ removal too.”

Everything went silent for a moment, before the quieter man - George, Pyro assumed - replied dejectedly, “Yes, sir.” He paused. “Am I dismissed?”

“Yes,” the other man answered. “Don’t disturb me until you have results and  _ don’t _ ask about the wizards again. It’s above your pay grade.”

“You don’t pay me anything,” George grumbled.

“Exactly,” came the response, spoken wryly. “Now get out!”

Pyro didn’t get to see George leave the side cave, because Seto had shoved him back down the tunnel and hissed, “Move!” in his ear. Seto basically pushed Pyro back to the corner before Pyro could blink, taking Pyro by surprise and throwing him off-balance.

“Are we running?” Pyro whispered forcefully, looking over at Seto’s dark outline.

Seto nodded. “Yep. Definitely running,” he answered. “Don’t worry about where, just go!”

Pyro took the initiative and sprinted back down the tunnel they came from, relighting the torch as he went. He couldn’t tell which tunnels were familiar and unfamiliar, so he just picked the path at random, trying to get as far from George and his boss as possible. Eventually, when his lungs felt like they were burning and his muscles ached, he stopped, falling against the wall of the tunnel and slumping down to the ground.

“I’ll admit,” Seto panted, “that was a terrible idea. How much do you want to bet that that was the masked man himself and the wizards he was talking about were us?” Seto half-dropped, half-fell to the ground, looking pale and exhausted.

“Everything I have,” Pyro groaned in response. “Should I be flattered that they think I’m dangerous?” He hesitated. “What about those demons, though? The masked man doesn’t seem to like them very much. Maybe they could help us?”

“You heard the little one - George. Demons are impossible to find. Have you  _ seen _ this cave network? Trying to pursue creatures of  _ darkness _ and  _ shadow _ in here would be like trying to find an invisible needle in an invisible haystack,” Seto pointed out. “I wonder why they’re down here.”

“The masked man and his compatriots or the demons?” Pyro asked.

“Both.” Seto glanced up at the roof of the tunnel. “Where are we, Pyro? What makes this place so important?  _ Why are we here?” _ The questions were met with silence. Pyro didn’t have any answers either.

A new voice broke into their musings. “Well, I can answer the first two questions, but I’ve been wondering about the third one myself,” it commented, lighthearted and lilted.

Pyro jumped up, grip tightening around the torch. He glanced over at Seto, who didn’t seem able to stand, and assumed a defensive stance. Pyro brandished the torch, trying to see further into the inky blackness. “Who’s there?” Pyro demanded, forcing himself to sound confident. “Show yourself!”

A tap on Pyro’s shoulder made him nearly leap out of his skin. “Right here, mate,” the stranger drawled. Pyro aggressively stuck the torch in his face, making him recoil. “I’m not going to hurt you! Calm down!” The newcomer was pale, with light brown hair that stuck straight up and rough, trimmed facial hair around his chin and on his upper lip.

Pyro glanced down at Seto again. He really didn’t look well. “Prove that we can trust you,” Pyro ordered. “You were eavesdropping on us. Why?”

“Because…” the stranger reached up to his face and pulled his top lip out of the way, revealing unnaturally sharp canines, “...you were talking about me.” He released his lip and grinned, revelling in Pyro’s shocked expression. “Tom Cassell,” he stuck out his hand to shake, “vampire and advisor to the king.”

Pyro gaped at him. “Uh…” He fumbled to shake Tom’s hand. “Pyrocynical, disowned wizard, I guess.” Pyro hesitated. “Vampire… demon blood. You’re one of the demons that the masked man wants hunted down.”

Tom grimaced. “Yep,” he affirmed, popping the ‘p’. “Technically it’s my dad that’s the demon, but to the uneducated, we’re all the same.” Tom looked down at Seto. “Is your friend okay?”

“My cousin, actually,” Pyro corrected, at the same time that Seto groaned pitifully. “But, er, no, I don’t think so. He’s been down here for a really long time, and we just had to flee from the masked man. The stress on his body-”

“I’ll carry him,” Tom volunteered. “I know somewhere safe. You’re not the first people I’ve found wandering around down here, trying to avoid that creep.”

Pyro bit his lip nervously as he watched Tom gently lift Pyro into his arms. “Can you take us out of the tunnels?” he asked.

Tom shook his head. “Your cousin should rest before we try that. It’s safe, I promise, and there’s someone I think you should meet.” Tom started along the tunnel. “Bring the torch and follow me. No need to worry - I can’t stab you in the back while I’m carrying him, eh?”

“I guess that makes some sense,” Pyro grumbled. “You said that you know where we are?” He hurried to keep up with Tom, not wanting to let the vampire out of his sights. Tom might be the enemy of their enemy, but he was still a vampire and therefore not Pyro’s first choice for an ally. Pyro didn’t think he’d ever actually met a demonborn, but they had a bit of a reputation for being notorious.

“Have you heard of the catacombs underneath Irys?” Tom prompted, to which Pyro nodded. “This is part of them. They’re supposed to be cut off to outsiders, but somehow that masked guy got down here and brought you two. I’m trying to map the tunnels for  _ his majesty.” _ Tom stuck out his tongue. “Jordan. Honorifics are stupid.”

“We’re under the capital right now?” Pyro questioned, glancing up as if he expected to be able to see the city.

“No, we’re outside the walls,” Tom replied. “These tunnels stretch way further than Jordan and I expected. Which is why everything takes so long and it’s so hard to get out.” He sighed and shook his head. “I’ve insisted that I can deal with the masked creep on my own because I didn’t want to worry Jordan, but the truth is…”

“...you can’t?” Pyro guessed. “Is that why you want to help Seto and introduce us to your friend?” A single glance at Tom’s expression told Pyro that he was right. “Tom… that man is a threat to my family. I think he’s going after my little cousin - not Seto, a boy named Charlie.” He hesitated. “I’ll help you fight him. And I’m sure Seto will too.”

Tom smiled, not a cheeky grin as his previous ones had been, but a soft, appreciative smile. “Thanks, mate.” He looked up, brown eyes darting around the tunnel up ahead. “We’re almost there. Come on, kiddo!”

For the second time that day, Pyro protested, “I’m not a kid!”

“How old are you?” Tom asked, his playful demeanour returning. Fangs flashed beneath his lip and Pyro was momentarily unsettled, before the feeling dissipated and Pyro realized that he was already used to the vampire’s appearance.

“Twenty-two,” Pyro answered swiftly, lifting his chin in defiance.

Tom burst out laughing, his steps stuttering. “Fifty-three! I’m fifty-three, Pyro! You’re effing  _ tiny!” _ he exclaimed, giggles breaking his words apart. “Twenty-two? Absolute child. When are you going to start teething?”

Pyro bristled angrily, though the teasing was a welcome change from anxiety and imprisonment. “I already have to deal with this from Seto, great gods, please don’t start-” Pyro pleaded.

“I am never going to forget this,” Tom assured him, to his dismay. Then he muttered something under his breath that sounded like another exclamation of ‘twenty-two!’. “Around this bend and straight ahead.” Tom nodded in the direction that they needed to go and quickened his pace.

Pyro charged after him, eyeing Seto’s limp form with unease. How had he deteriorated so quickly? He’d seemed a little off when they’d woken up, but… Pyro felt guilty for not noticing.

“Here,” Tom said suddenly, interrupting Pyro’s train of thought. He gestured with his head to a seemingly ordinary wall, before he side-stepped through and disappeared.

“Magic door?” Pyro questioned, reaching out and watching with fascination as his fingertips vanished. It felt like plunging his hand into ice-cold water and Pyro gasped, yanking his arm back and wrenching his shoulder slightly with the force of it. He took a few slow breaths, steeling himself again, and then sprinted through.

Pyro emerged into a cave that looked like any other. It was a fair bit bigger than the one that he and Seto had been imprisoned in, but it was nothing special. However, it was furnished, with a few wooden chairs and tables scattered around the edges and an old, dusty rug on the ground. A couple of cots were already prepared and Pyro could see some bedrolls packed away in a crevice. Some sort of black lump was laying in the corner, but Pyro didn’t have time to investigate before Tom clapped him on the shoulder.

“I laid Seto down over here,” Tom told him, gently leading him to one of the cots. “I think he just needs rest. He seems exhausted. When was the last time he slept in a bed?”

Pyro felt worse and worse as he stared down at Seto, sickly and frail, and his mouth tasted sour as he answered, “About twenty-five years ago.”

Tom was quiet for a moment. “Ah. I see.” He sounded subdued, which was such a strange change from the bubbly vampire that Pyro had quickly become accustomed to that Pyro regarded him with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t have much down here, but there is food and water and a few medical supplies. I wish there was more, but with my demonborn healing I don’t really need it…”

“Just do what you can. It should be enough,” Pyro assured him, though worry was once again eating away at the back of his mind. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk right next to him?”

“You’re probably right,” Tom admitted with a sigh. “Yeah- oh, I haven’t introduced you to my roommate - cavemate - yet!” He spun around, firm grip on Pyro’s shoulder bringing Pyro with him. “Pyro, meet-”

“I can introduce myself,” came a grumble from the lump in the corner that Pyro had overlooked. The shape started to shift into a standing position, legs and arms and a head forming from what had previously been a nondescript, blanket-covered mass.

Pyro didn’t want to be rude, but he could see why this stranger had been hiding under a blanket. He was Pyro’s height and fair, with brown hair, and dressed in dark leather armour. But what had caught Pyro’s attention were his forearms, the only part of his body other than his face that wasn’t obscured by his armour. From his elbow to his fingertips was darkened to the colour of scorched rock and ash, shot through with vibrantly contrasting lines of red and yellow and gold that snaked up his arms. His second most striking feature was his eyes - all six of them. One large pair was staring at Pyro, while the other two smaller pairs appeared to be looking at Tom and Seto. All three pairs were black with fire-coloured irises. Then the stranger shifted, moving towards Pyro and Tom, and Pyro realized that eight spindly legs protruded from his back, their black colouration blending in with the cave. Everything about him screamed one thing -  _ spider. _

Pyro attempted to appear confident. He would never admit it, but he wasn’t a fan of spiders. Even if said spiders were apparently intelligent and trustable.

“Hi,” the spider-man started, folding his hands behind his back and smiling, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “My name is Connor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT HIM. CONAR EAT PANT. (and tom and george)  
> also if you're thinking that this was too easy that's because it was! and that is deliberate! be scared! be very scared!  
> i wrote half of this in one sitting and im posting this at like 10:30 pm because i couldnt sleep until i was done  
> comments are absolutely wonderful so please consider leaving one as well as a kudos! bookmark n subscribe n all that,,, thanks  
> also like shoutout to ty and ozzie and tally and whoever else was there yelling at me to concentrate cuz that genuinely helped lmao


	34. Charlie Has A Bad Time (*Megalovania Intensifies*)

They were gathered in Karl’s living room - Charlie, Noah, Fitz, Swagger, and Jay. Matt and Mason were back at the carriage, keeping an eye on things. Grace was sitting around Charlie’s shoulders, the slime cold against his neck. The trapdoor lay uncovered in the floor as the group prepared for their plunge.

“Karl,” Noah started. “Is there anywhere private where I can talk to Charlie for a moment?”

Charlie’s head snapped up, surprised. A pang of anxiety shot through his heart, worried about what Noah wanted to discuss with him. He looked over at Karl, who was standing by the fireplace with his arms folded over his chest.

“The kitchen?” Karl suggested, pointing over Charlie’s shoulder at the wall behind him. “I guess? This place is pretty small.”

Noah caught Charlie’s eye and beckoned to him. “Come on,” he murmured as he walked past Charlie.

As soon as they were in the kitchen, Noah rounded on Charlie and said in a low voice, “You’re not coming.” Noah regarded him with a stern expression. “I won’t allow it.”

“But-” Charlie protested before Noah held up a hand and cut him off.

“You are a  _ child. _ You’re  _ not _ coming, Charlie,” Noah insisted firmly. “You’re going to stay in the wagon with Matt and Mason. I won’t let you deliberately put your life in danger. I know you’ve gone through fights before and you think that you can handle yourself, but this is different. We are going into an unknown situation in an unsafe environment and I…” Noah took a deep breath. “You remind me of my little brother, alright? I can’t let you get hurt. Fitz, Swagger, Jay, and I will go down into the tunnels and try to find Pyro.” Noah gave him a sad smile and placed a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “We have to be  _ incredibly _ careful and stealthy. This is a crime of the highest order, going down there against the king’s explicit instructions. You understand what I’m saying, right?”

Charlie dug his fingers into the loose fabric of his shirt and looked away from Noah. He understood, but he wasn’t happy about it. Upset, Charlie nodded slowly and deliberately. Then he whispered, “Why didn’t you talk to me about this earlier?”

Noah’s expression changed into a tight frown. “I didn’t mean to get your hopes up… there wasn’t really time; I just decided it with Karl and Swagger this morning. You can stay here with Karl if that makes it any better? Maybe introduce Grace to Karl’s cat.”

“Karl has a cat?” Charlie raised one eyebrow, glancing past Noah into the main room.

“See, it’ll be fine,” Noah assured him. “We’re not going to try to attack the masked man or anything. It’s just a scouting mission. You staying here is simply a precaution.” Noah playfully cuffed the side of Charlie’s head with his hand. “We’ll be back before you know we’re gone.”

“Sure,” Charlie muttered. “Good luck, Noah.” He wrung his hands together. “I hope you find him.”

“I hope so, too.” Noah smiled. He opened his mouth, as if he were going to say something else, then appeared to change his mind and close it again. Noah gave Charlie one last clap on the shoulder before departing back into the other room.

Grace mewed in Charlie’s ear. Charlie just sighed.

* * *

They said their farewells and Charlie felt the pit in his stomach sink deeper and deeper. He felt useless. He’d been told that he was worthless so many times, rejected from his own family because of it… and it hurt. As it should. He’d thought that he’d found a place with Noah and the Misfits, but when it really mattered he still couldn’t help. And it wasn’t Noah’s intention to hurt him, but it was still awful to be left behind. Abandoned, unable to neither help nor hinder.

Karl sat down heavily on the couch next to Charlie, letting out a small huff, and Charlie remembered that he wasn’t the only one left behind. Karl and two of the Misfits remained with him. It was logical to split up their group, just in case anything happened. It made  _ sense. _

And yet Charlie found it difficult to push away his self-doubt.

A low mew rumbled and Charlie felt something paw at his leg. He first assumed that it was Grace and didn’t look down, before realizing that Grace was sitting in his lap. Charlie made a bit of a ‘huh’ noise without intending to and leaned over his knees to regard the unfamiliar cat.

“Oh, that’s Mianite,” Karl commented, noticing what Charlie was looking at. “He comes about sometimes. We’re bros.” He paused. “Maybe don’t try to pet him. Sometimes he bites strangers and I don’t know everywhere he’s been.”

“Alright,” Charlie replied. The cat was snow-white, with clear blue eyes. He seemed to be more interested in Grace than Charlie, attempting to climb up Charlie’s leg to greet her. “I think he likes Grace.”

“He certainly seems curious,” Karl agreed. “He’s never seen a slime as far as I know.” Karl smiled fondly at the cat. “He’s not really my cat if you’re wondering. More like a stray that comes here to get off the streets.”

Charlie gently lifted Grace off his lap and set her down on the floor next to Mianite. She mewed and Mianite mewed back. “Look, they’re friends now,” Charlie joked.

Karl made a noise of acknowledgement and slumped back against the couch with a sigh. Mianite and Grace disappeared into the kitchen, but Karl didn’t seem worried about it. “So…” Karl started, “Charlie, isn’t it?”

Charlie nodded. “Yeah.” He fidgeted with his hands in his lap. Charlie was starting to realize how little he knew about Karl and how much he and his… (friends? Crew? Team?) group were trusting him.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did a kid end up with that lot of criminals?” Karl jerked his thumb towards the rug.

“Oh.” Charlie paused. “I mentioned my cousin, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Well, we…” Charlie hesitated and let out a long exhale. “Maybe I should start right from the beginning. It’s a long story - you sure you want to hear it?”

“Lay it on me,” Karl replied. “We’ve got nothing but time. And whatever you have to share is probably ten times more interesting than my old war stories.”

“I want to hear war stories,” Charlie objected, “but, uh, I can… explain first…” He cringed at his awkwardness. “I’m a Blackthorn,” he blurted. “Everyone in my family has magic. It’s because of an old relic-thing locked up in the castle basement. We’re supposed to be the bad guys, the enemy of the Crown and whatnot, but my brothers - I have two of them, Condi and Grizzly - decided that my magic wasn’t really useful for villainy so they… they kicked me out. And are now kind of hunting me for sport.” Charlie glanced at Karl, but he didn’t interrupt, so Charlie went on. “Pyro, my cousin, came with me when I left. We… Pyro tried to convince me to come here to escape our family. He intended to have Noah help me fake my death so that Condi didn’t follow us, but then the Misfits got involved and ruined everything. The masked man hired the Misfits to kidnap Pyro, which they did, and when Noah and I went to rescue Pyro, Condi caught up to us. Along with the masked man. And the masked man took Pyro. The Misfits agreed to help me and Noah get Pyro back, but in return, we need to hand over the mask that we take from the masked man, which we’re pretty sure is an old Blackthorn relic that has magic powers. Noah sent out messages looking for leads, you replied, and now we’re here.”

Karl blinked slowly. “Wow.” He paused. “I think I need a second to process all of that.” Karl laughed, with slight hesitance. “Thanks… thanks for telling me, Charlie.”

Charlie dug his nails into his arm. “It’s fine,” he muttered. “I’d rather just…” he realized that his hands were shaking, “...forget about it.”

Karl gave him a kind smile and Charlie knew he should have been appreciative, but instead he just felt worse. He didn’t want to be treated with pity just because he was young, even though he knew that probably wasn’t how Karl intended to make him feel.

“Do you want to… do something?” Karl suggested.

Charlie breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes, please,” he replied. “Distraction. Give it to me.”

Karl laughed heartily. “I was thinking about cooking something for the lads so that they can eat when they get back. Want to help?”

“I’ve never cooked before,” Charlie admitted. “We had a chef back home. One of my distant cousins.” Charlie glanced up, watching Karl get up from the couch, before he followed.

“Sorry if this is a weird question, but… if you’re all stuck in a castle and you’re all related, how does your family, uh…” Karl waved his hands vaguely, “...keep going?”

Charlie snorted a shocked laugh. “Um… we’re not stuck?” he offered. “We just have to be kinda careful. I know my father met my mother while assigned somewhere out west. Why anybody would marry into the Blackthorns, I have literally no clue. Probably for the power, or because the other option is some sheep farmer.”

“Makes sense,” Karl grunted. “Come on, I’ll teach you how to make something simple. Don’t worry about breaking things - I have to deal with both a cat and Tom, that’s just how life is around here.”

“Tom?” Charlie questioned.

“Living disaster who thinks that raw pigeon is an acceptable meal.” Karl rolled his eyes. “It’s not. Oh, you wouldn’t believe the stories I have to tell.”

“Tell them first, then I’ll judge,” Charlie shot back.

* * *

_ Charlie sprinted across the dirt path, feeling as if he were moving through molasses. He couldn’t move fast enough, no matter how hard he tried, couldn’t cry out and warn Pyro even though he knew what was going to happen. His voice was stuck and he was doomed to make it at the last second, his fingers just barely grazing Pyro’s cloak before he vanished in a haze of smoke along with the masked man. Charlie collapsed to his knees and screamed. It was his fault. His fault that he didn’t make it in time. His fault that Pyro had been taken. _

_ Boots crunched behind him and a hand touched his shoulder. Charlie looked up, expecting to see Noah, but instead, the man in the mask stared down at him triumphantly. Where the half-mask didn’t cover was simply inky blackness, creating a distorted, nightmarish caricature of his cousin’s kidnapper. Charlie pushed himself up and the masked man didn’t move, even as Charlie reached back and snatched the mask from his face. It crumbled to dust in Charlie’s hand, revealing Charlie’s own face in the shadows of the hood. Charlie’s heart pounded in his ears and he stumbled back. His foot caught on a root and he tumbled to the ground... _

“Charlie?” Karl’s voice broke into Charlie’s nightmare, pulling him out of his disturbed sleep. Dreams had not been nice to Charlie for a while. Hence why he was napping in Karl’s guest room in the middle of the day, trying to rest up after insistence from Karl. “Charlie, they’re back.”

Charlie’s eyes flew open. Karl was standing in the doorway, backlit by the light from the rest of the house. Charlie couldn’t make out much of his expression, but from what he could glean as his eyes adjusted, Karl looked worried. “Is-” he started.

Karl shook his head, cutting Charlie off. “It’s… you should come see. Don’t get your hopes up.” There it was again, Karl’s pitying expression, but Charlie was too tired to be irked. “It’s not good news.” Karl sighed, looking lost.

“I’m coming,” Charlie said quickly, getting up from the bed. He sensed that any questions wouldn’t have satisfying answers, so he didn’t ask, even though he was burning with curiosity and worry. He hurried after Karl into the hall and back towards the main room. Karl walked in immediately, while Charlie halted in the doorway. Charlie inhaled sharply, looking at the scene before him.

Swagger was the only one of the four upright, leaning against the opposite wall, but blood was trickling out from beneath his helmet and a nasty-looking gash was slashed across his side. Jay, Fitz, and Noah occupied the couch and armchair, respectively. Jay was slumped into the crook of one end of the couch, his orange scarf tattered and frayed, and scorch marks speckling his leather breastplate. He was clutching his left arm, which was slowly seeping blood, his eyes were squeezed shut and his face was contorted in pain, and one of his ankles was twisted at an odd angle that made Charlie feel sick to look at it. Fitz was on the other end of the couch and holding a bloody handkerchief against his cheek and the side of his nose. He looked more angry and annoyed than pained, but Charlie noticed that he had one hand pressed against his ribs. Fitz’ armour was also dotted with scorch marks, many more than Jay’s, and a bit of blood around his gorget that looked as if it had dripped down from his face. And Noah…

Charlie dashed over to the armchair, his eyes wide. “Noah,” he gasped, looking down at his friend. 

Noah winced, both hands putting pressure on the upper left side of his chest, where part of his leather armour had been broken and a scary amount of blood was staining his tunic. “Arrow,” he grunted, his breathing heavy and frantic. “Right next to my collarbone. Went in deep. I managed to pull it out, but, uh, I probably shouldn’t have.”

“Damn right, you idiot,” Karl snorted, moving to join Charlie next to Noah. “You should get that cleaned. There are buckets of water and a tub in one of the rooms down the hall. Can you move?”

“My legs are fine,” Noah grumbled. “If anybody needs help, it’s Jay. They got him really bad - Fitz and Swagger had to carry him back. I can manage.” Noah hauled himself up from the chair and let out a hiss of pain. Charlie went to steady him, but Noah snapped, “I can  _ manage, _ Charlie. I’ve dealt with far worse. You shouldn’t have to see this.”

Charlie stepped back, hesitant. “What happened?” he breathed, looking at Noah but posing his question to everybody in the room.

It was Fitz that spoke up from the couch as Noah vanished into the hall. “It was a trap,” he answered. “A horde of zombies chased us right into an ambush. Only two guys, but they obliterated us. They had the element of surprise, they knew the environment better than we did…” Fitz trailed off, letting Swagger cut in.

“Zombies aren’t real. There were  _ monsters _ down there that chased us into the ambush. Don’t try to scare him unnecessarily, Fitz,” Swagger chided.

Fitz rolled his eyes and winced in pain. “Whatever. They looked like zombies to me, so that’s what I’m calling them.” Fitz looked over at Swagger and his brow furrowed. “Is your face okay? You hit the ground pretty hard down there.”

Swagger shifted. “I think my nose is broken,” he muttered. “Karl, do you-”

“Back rooms, take a bucket from where Noah is.” Karl jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going to bring some bandages to Noah, should I take some to you too?”

Swagger shook his head. “I should be fine. I don’t think any of my injuries are very deep.” He then went past Charlie and Karl, limping slightly.

Karl looked over at Jay and Fitz, expectant.

“I’m good,” Fitz said, waving a hand dismissively. “My ribs are just bruised and I can wait to clean my face until they’re done.” He paused. “I hope it doesn’t scar,” he grumbled to himself.

“Jay needs a doctor,” Charlie interjected. He’d been watching the rogue for the past few moments, and he didn’t know much about wounds or shock, but he knew enough to know that Jay was in terrible shape. Jay was the only one that hadn’t been able to speak.

Karl’s expression tightened into a small frown. “His arm looks bad, but-”

“His ankle is broken,” Fitz interrupted. “Charlie’s right - he needs an actual doctor, not just whatever we can cop together.” Fitz hesitated. “We can’t take him, though. We’d get arrested instantly. Jay by himself might be able to swing something, but he’s so out of it… Karl, I know we’ve been taking advantage of your hospitality so much already-”

“I can take him,” Charlie blurted suddenly, surprising himself. “You’d do it if you could without getting caught, I know you would, and I’m, like, the same age as you, so you can’t use that as an excuse. I’ll say that I’m his squire and he was injured on the way to the tournament.”

Fitz glanced at Jay, then over at Karl. “I don’t have a problem with it,” Fitz said. “Noah might have something to say about that, though. He feels responsible for you.”

“He shouldn’t,” Charlie shot back. “I’m responsible for myself. If you can do all this stuff and nobody stops you because you’re too young, I can take Jay to a doctor.”

“Besides,” Karl added, stepping forward and placing a hand on Charlie’s shoulder, “I can keep an eye on them if Noah objects. And make sure that Charlie knows where he’s going.”

Jay finally started to stir. He was pale and his forehead was drenched in sweat. “Where… ‘m… what…” he mumbled, blinking a few times. “Fitz?” Jay swore under his breath. “Great gods.”

“Charlie’s going to take you to a doctor,” Fitz announced, adjusting the handkerchief he was holding against his face. “Can you handle that?”

“I might pass out again,” Jay said quietly, “but I’ll try. Holy  _ f-” _ Jay winced viciously. “Ankle… gods… damn… it…”

“Jay can take my horse,” Charlie decided. He still didn’t like the Misfits very much, but Jay had never done anything to hurt him. Somebody needed to help Jay, and he was as good as anyone.

“We can’t afford to delay any longer.” Fitz took the handkerchief away from his face, revealing a nasty cut across his cheek. “I’ll help you move him outside. I’m fine,” he insisted again.

“I can lend a hand as well,” Karl offered, striding over to the couch.

Charlie bit his lip and his stomach twisted as Karl and Fitz started to help Jay up. It wasn’t a horrible-looking injury, but watching Jay in so much pain didn’t sit well with him. Part of him wanted to make Karl take him - he knew if he asked, Karl would take his place - but another part insisted that this was how he could prove that he was useful, not just to everybody else, but to himself as well.

“You’re going to be okay,” Fitz murmured to Jay, unusually soft. Fitz glanced at Charlie. “I trust Charlie.”

  
Charlie drew back, out of their way, unsure how to respond. Then he followed Fitz and Karl to the front door. He hoped that this wasn’t a stupid idea. He  _ prayed _ so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back to the tournament with wilbur next chapter!  
> did i get lazy with this plot point? maybe. do i care? not really.  
> stay safe out there everyone, hope to update again soon with a chapter that actually progresses things <3


	35. Wilbur: “Carson Is Cool, But I Like Them.” *Gestures To Tommy And Phil*

Wilbur dismounted from Milo’s back and put his head down, trying not to attract attention while he looked for Carson and Schlatt. He flipped the collar of his dark green cloak up and grabbed hold of Milo’s reins, gently leading the chestnut pony around the tents where most of the knights were staying. His heart was still pounding and every shadow made him flinch, his brain hard-wired into thinking that it might be Minx. Hence when a voice called out to him, Wilbur nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Wilbur!” It took Wilbur a moment to realize that it was a boy’s voice and therefore not Minx, but he couldn’t fully place it until he stopped and turned and saw the young man that was frantically waving at him. “Over here!” Tommy called, beckoning to Wilbur with one hand.

With a small sigh, Wilbur walked towards Tommy, slightly tentative. “Hey, Tommy, what’s-” he started, before Tommy grabbed him by the front of his shirt and yanked him into a nearby tent. “Ack!” Wilbur squawked, trying to straighten his tunic and jacket. “What in the world are you  _ doing?” _

“This is our tent!” Tommy declared, letting go of Wilbur and placing his hands on his hips. Tommy beamed at Wilbur and despite Wilbur’s scare, the squire’s energy was contagious, and Wilbur found himself smiling back. “Mine and Phil’s, that is. I thought you might want to at least know where it is in case you want to stop by at some point!”

Milo poked his head through the flap of the tent, exhaled loudly through his nose, then vanished. Wilbur glanced back at him, a pang of anxiety shooting down his spine. He couldn’t stop worrying about Minx. As much as he didn’t want to, Wilbur had to ditch Tommy as soon as he could.

“Wil?” Tommy questioned, tugging his arm and drawing his attention back. “You okay? Man, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” Tommy’s brow furrowed in concern.

“He’s right, mate, you don’t look great,” Sir Phillip - or Phil, as Tommy had unceremoniously referred to him as earlier - remarked from where he was sitting cross-legged on the ground. “Wilbur, right? Sir Carson’s boy?”

Wilbur gave a start - he hadn’t noticed the blond knight when he’d come in. He was slightly annoyed that everybody only knew him in conjunction with Carson, though he admitted to himself that he’d signed up for it when he volunteered to pose as Carson’s squire. “Yes, sir. Wilbur Soot,” Wilbur answered politely. “And I’m alright. I just got attacked by a crazy lady with a knife, but other than that I’m perfectly fine.”

Tommy gasped. “You  _ what?” _ he exclaimed, looking over at Phil. “Who? Where? Why?” Tommy asked, each new question cutting off Wilbur as he tried to start speaking.

“Would you like to ask anything else or let me explain?” Wilbur snapped, slightly annoyed. He hadn’t meant to spill the beans, as he didn’t fully trust the knight nor his squire, but he figured he might as well see if either of them knew anything about Minx now that he was going to have to explain. Besides, he didn’t have to give them  _ all _ the details.

“You hang out with Tubbo too much,” Phil commented quietly, to which Tommy just rolled his eyes and huffed. “Go on, Wilbur.” Phil nodded to him and gestured for him to speak.

Wilbur cleared his throat. “I was on my way here with a letter for Carson,” he started, deciding to tell a version of the truth, “when a lady calling herself Minx stopped me, threatened me, took the letter, and then charged off in this direction on her horse. I chased her, but she disappeared just before we passed the gate.” Wilbur paused, letting his shoulders relax, and looked around at Phil and Tommy.

Phil had frozen somewhere during Wilbur’s story and was staring at him. “Minx?” the knight repeated, his hand drifting to the hilt of the sword sheathed on his belt. “Wilbur… do you know what was in that letter?” Phil’s voice was serious, each word pointed and deliberate.

Wilbur shrunk under Phil’s intense gaze, fiddling with his fingers in front of his chest and taking a small step back towards the tent flap. “No, sir,” he lied, trying to match Phil’s stare so as not to arouse suspicion. “Do you know Minx?” Wilbur countered.

“Not personally, but I know about her,” Phil answered. “She disguised herself and lied to fight during the war, then vanished, and when King Jordan offered proper knighthoods to women that had been knighted under a false name after he changed the law, she didn’t take it. She’s now a notorious assassin - one of the best, though not known for her cordiality.” Phil paused. “Anything else is just rumours. And no, I don’t know what name she went by during the war. She keeps it a secret deliberately so that she can continue using it when she’s undercover.”

Wilbur’s brow creased. “How do you know all of that?” he questioned. From Wilbur’s point of view, Phil seemed to know too much about a woman that he said he’d never met.

“Phil knows loads about everyone,” Tommy piped up. “He’s got a great memory and he’s been around everywhere. Books? Psh. I’ve got  _ Phil.” _ Tommy smiled and adjusted his navy blue cloak. Wilbur observed that Phil’s cloak was the same colour and assumed that they matched deliberately. “All jokes aside, though, you can trust his info. No shady dealings here, no sir, just good ol’ fashioned knowledge.”

Wilbur squinted and glanced between Tommy and Phil. He wanted to trust them and was so sure that Tommy was just being silly… but something was making Wilbur uneasy. Maybe it was just the fact that he was on-edge after his encounter with Minx. Wilbur hoped so.

A short trumpet blast sounded outside. “That’s the first round getting ready to start,” Phil said. “They announced the rules and the matchups for this morning earlier - Tommy can catch you up on the way. The competing knights and their squires have their own stands, so that’s where we’re headed. I imagine Sir Carson will meet you there.”

“Where do the horses go?” Wilbur asked, glancing back at the flash of chestnut fur he could see through the tent flap.

“There’s a stable over by the armoury,” Phil answered, heaving himself up from the ground. His iron armour clanked loudly. “We can watch the first few passes, but then we’ll have to dip out to get ready for my joust.” Phil shot a wry smile in Wilbur’s direction.

“I’ll get myself there,” Milo chirped. “You enjoy the jousting and keep an eye out for Minx.” Wilbur then heard hoofsteps moving away from the tent.

Wilbur, Tommy, and Phil left the tent and quickly headed in the direction of the stands and the lists. While they were walking, Tommy turned to Wilbur.

“Have you ever seen a joust before?” Tommy asked curiously. “Sir Carson’s been avoiding big events like this for a while, so I thought I’d ask.”

Wilbur shook his head. He knew about jousting in theory, but his town had been much too small for lists of its own, and he had never left his home to see a tourney like this. “Nah. I’ve heard that it’s dangerous,” he said.

“Oh, it is,” Phil put in, “but fun without risk is no fun at all.”

“What he said,” Tommy reiterated, jerking his thumb sideways to point at Phil. “Basically, in a joust, two knights will take passes at each other from astride their horses. The objective is to hit the opposing knight’s shield with your lance. If the lance touches the shield and bounces off, that’s one point. If the lance shatters, that’s five points. If the opposing knight falls off his horse, that’s ten points. You can also lose points for not dropping your reins before impact, striking a knight in the wrong place, or having your horse slow down too much. This tournament will have five passes per match if I’m remembering it-” Tommy glanced over at Phil, who nodded. “Yeah. Five passes. Make sense, Wil?”

Wilbur nodded. “Think so,” he answered. “Who’s jousting this morning?” They’d reached the lists and Wilbur was gazing around at all the unfamiliar knights. There were so many different styles and colours of outfits and armour that he needed to take a moment to absorb it all. He suspected that there was a certain kind of armour the jousting knights needed to wear, but for the moment, most knights were in their usual and unique attire. Shields and cloaks in bright colours and fancy patterns flashed by Wilbur’s vision and he blinked a few times.

“Sir Callum Knight and Sir Ryan Krinios,” Tommy listed, “then Sir Phillip and Sir Carson, which will be fun. Er, after that I think it’s Sir Travis Gold from the Crownguard versus some guy I don’t really know-”

“Sir Alastair Eret,” Phil cut in. “And just before lunch, it’ll be Sir Joko, also from the Crownguard, against Sir Callum Redwing. Two Callums can’t possibly be confusing.” Phil grinned.

_ Sir Callum Redwing. _ The name sounded familiar, but Wilbur couldn’t figure out why. “So it’s Sir Callum and Sir Ryan right now?” Wilbur questioned. “And then you’ll be taking on Carson?” Wilbur knew it was all for fun and the knights tried their best not to hurt each other, but he couldn’t help feel nervous that Carson and Phil might accidentally injure one another during their joust.

Phil nodded in confirmation and reached around Tommy to pat Wilbur on the shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he assured Wilbur, “I’ll go easy on him.” Phil paused. “Though I’ve heard that Sir Carson’s actually an awfully good jouster, even with one hand.”

“Well, you don’t need two hands to joust,” Wilbur defended. “Might even make it easier because he doesn’t have to worry about letting go of the reins at the wrong time.”

“But then he has to control his horse with his knees,” Tommy reminded him. “I think it evens out.” Tommy shrugged. “Come on, let’s get good seats! I’ve met CPK and Krinios before, they’re both good sports and great jousters.”

“CPK?” Wilbur repeated.

“Sir Callum’s initials. Because there’s more than one, he uses-” Phil started, before Wilbur waved his hand and cut him off.

“I get it. And calling him ‘Knight’ wouldn’t work because that’s just more confusing.” Wilbur paused, letting Tommy lead him and Phil through the crowd to the front of the stands. “Do either of you see Carson anywhere?”

As if Wilbur’s words had summoned him, Carson appeared out of the crowd at Wilbur’s arm. “Hanging out with the competition, I see?” Carson challenged with a smile on his face. “Wilbur, we have to talk about-”

“The joust is about to start!” Tommy interjected. “Shut down and sit up!”

Carson and Phil laughed and for a moment Wilbur didn’t notice that Tommy had said anything wrong. Then he, too, started to giggle. Tommy glared at them and sat down heavily on the bench. Phil joined him on the other side, then Wilbur sat down between Tommy and Carson, who sat down last.

“Where’s Schlatt?” Wilbur whispered to Carson.

“At the tent,” Carson shot back. “He’ll probably be watching from the sidelines. Just didn’t want to attract attention or get in anybody’s way.” Carson leaned forward and clutched the wooden barrier in front of them. “Enjoy the show, Wilbur. Make sure to keep an eye on the squires and stablehands - that’s what you’ll be doing during my joust, after all.”

Wilbur froze. He’d forgotten that pretending to be Carson’s squire came with, well, doing squire things. Before he could respond, however, Tommy tapped him on the shoulder.

“Krinios is the one on the right with the blue shield,” Tommy told him. “CPK is on the left with the orange.” Tommy grinned, looking ecstatic to be there, and heartily slapped Wilbur on the back.

Wilbur took the spare minutes while the knights finished getting ready to study the competitors. They were dressed in identical suits of iron plate armour, but luckily, they hadn’t put their helmets on yet.

Sir Ryan Krinios had messy black hair and was swathed in a vibrant blue cloak that matched his shield. His shield was painted with the emblem of a single eye, which Wilbur quickly realized was meant to emulate his most striking feature (or lack thereof) - one startlingly blue eye that was darting around, giving him a knowing air. His other eye was covered by a black eyepatch.

Sir Callum Knight, on the other hand, was a tall blond man with rough facial hair edging his jaw. His cloak was a warm, yet pale, orange tone and hung loosely around his shoulders. His shield was emblazoned with a serene-looking fox’s head on a light orange background. Sir Callum beamed around at the crowd, seeming confident.

Another trumpet blast from the other side of the jousting lists drew Wilbur’s attention. King Jordan was seated there with Vice Taylor and the Crownguard, except Sir Alexander, who was back at the castle, in their own private stand. Sir Ryan and Sir Callum put on their helmets and climbed onto their horses, with a bit of help from stablehands. They were each handed a lance and took up their positions at each end of the lists.

“Five passes!” Sir Joshua reminded the crowd from his spot in front of the nobility’s stand. Wilbur hadn’t noticed him there - he must have been refereeing for at least part of the tourney. “Whichever knight has the most points at the end moves onto the next round!” Sir Joshua nodded to both knights and lifted his hand above his head. “Sir Callum and Sir Ryan, I expect a clean match. Ride!” Sir Joshua dropped his hand and the knights charged.

The first pass was clean, with both lances ricocheting off of the opposing knight’s shield. The knights halted at the opposite end before riding at each other again without Sir Joshua signalling. This time, Sir Callum’s lance hit Sir Ryan’s shield without breaking, but Sir Ryan’s lance struck the edge of Sir Callum’s shield and splintered into three large pieces. The crowd cheered and Wilbur found himself joining in as the jousting paused and Sir Ryan was handed a new lance. Then the knights were at it again, rounding on each other and speeding down the lane. Sir Callum hefted his lance and hit Sir Ryan’s shield just off-centre, knocking the one-eyed knight off-balance and causing him to tumble from his horse.

“Yeah!” Tommy screamed in Wilbur’s ear. “That was  _ perfect, _ Callum, absolutely perfect! You’ve got this!” Tommy cupped his hands around his mouth and let out a loud whoop.

“Are you rooting for Sir Callum, then?” Wilbur asked dryly, flinching away from Tommy. He hoped that Tommy wouldn’t take his tone too seriously, though - he was glad that Tommy was excited.

“Wh- no, I don’t really care who wins,” Tommy replied. “That was just a really good hit.” Tommy grinned. “Come on, get into it, Wil! This is  _ awesome, _ right?” He hit Wilbur lightly on the arm.

Wilbur let a smile rise to his face. “Yeah,” he agreed. “It’s great.” The energy of the crowd was contagious, though he knew he couldn’t let himself get lost in it. The point of this tournament was to draw out Technoblade’s assassins, so he had to be on the lookout for them  _ and _ Minx. Suddenly, Wilbur was struck with a thought.  _ What if Minx is working for Technoblade? _ According to Phil, she was a mercenary herself… though she’d mentioned something about Carson, which didn’t make sense. Why would Carson, a random knight, be on Technoblade’s hit list? Wilbur was too puzzled to make heads nor tails of it all. He’d have to speak to Carson before his and Phil’s joust.

The knights were ready again and Wilbur’s gaze drifted back to them. Two passes left. Krinios’ horse let out a loud whinny and the knights pelted at each other. A loud crack split the air and Krinios’ lance shattered, splinters flying in every direction, and CPK flinched away, his lance just barely touching the edge of Krinios’ shield.

“They’re almost tied!” Wilbur cried, his shout escaping him before he realized what he was saying. If he was tracking points correctly… “Anybody could win on this next pass.”

“Sir Ryan has this,” Carson said, leaning forward towards the barrier. “He’s already broken two lances and Sir Callum hasn’t broken a single one.”

“We’ll see,” Phil put in from Tommy’s other side. “If Sir Callum manages another unhorsing…”

“They’re going!” Tommy interrupted loudly.

Indeed, CPK and Krinios were back for their final pass. Wilbur tensed up - though he wasn’t rooting for one in particular, he was still anxious to see who would win - and drew in a sharp breath. The two knights charged at each other, their lances looking to be steady and true, and Wilbur’s eyes widened as CPK’s lance broke on Krinios’ shield. For a moment, Wilbur thought that CPK had won and it was over, but then as he pulled past Krinios, he failed to stay in his horse’s saddle and toppled onto the ground with a loud crash.

The crowd erupted into hollers and cheers and Wilbur watched as Krinios dismounted from his horse and went to help CPK to his feet. Sir Joshua raised his hand and gestured to the crowd for them to quiet down.

“With twenty-one points to seventeen, Sir Ryan Krinios is the winner of the first match!” Sir Joshua declared, and the knight in question swiftly removed the helmet from his head and lifted his arm in a gesture of triumph. “Next, Sir Phillip Watson will be jousting against Sir Carson King.”

The low din of chatter resumed as Sir Joshua stepped back into the stand, and Wilbur, Carson, Phil, and Tommy all got to their feet. Wilbur dusted off his tunic and jacket and awkwardly shuffled out of the stand.

“May the best man win,” Phil said with a smile, extending his hand to Carson.

Carson returned the smile and shook his hand. “Likewise.” Carson gestured to Wilbur with his stump. “We’re over on this side, I think. Do you know what to do?”

Wilbur was momentarily distracted by Tommy waving at him and he waved back, before turning to Carson. “Replace your lance if it breaks?” he guessed.

Carson nodded. They headed over to the side that Krinios had jousted from earlier, where Ted was already waiting with a stablehand. Wilbur was impressed by the efficiency. Carson took the reins from the stablehand and hoisted himself up into the saddle. “Could you fetch my helmet, shield, and lance from there?” Carson requested, pointing at where they were hung on a nearby wall.

“Yeah, yeah, I got ‘em,” Wilbur called over his shoulder. First, he retrieved Carson’s helmet and shield, stunned at how heavy they were. He passed them up to Carson and then went back to get the lance, which he could barely carry. Carson lifted it with ease, his helmet already covering his face.

“Thanks,” Carson said, his voice slightly muffled by the helmet. “Wish me luck!”

“Good luck,” Wilbur replied sincerely. “Please don’t get hurt. I don’t want to have to heal you in front of all these people.”

Carson laughed, a slight wheeze to his voice that indicated his laughter was genuine. “Oh, y’know, Wilbur,” Carson lifted his shield arm to show his stump, “I never get hurt.” And with that, Carson spurred Ted towards the lists.

It wasn’t until the trumpet sounded that Wilbur realized he’d forgotten to tell Carson about Minx.

Wilbur cursed under his breath and went to stand by Sir Joshua and Tommy in front of the nobility’s stands. Wilbur blinked, noticing a familiar face that he hadn’t been expecting sitting just behind King Jordan and Vice Taylor. Cooper of the merfolk looked back at Wilbur, giving him a small wave. Wilbur returned the wave with a nervous smile.

“Sir Carson! Sir Phillip! I want a clean match,” Sir Joshua called. Wilbur glanced over at Tommy. “Ride!” Sir Joshua dropped his hand and Carson flicked Ted’s reins, spurring the white horse into a gallop. Surprised by how fast things were happening, Wilbur took a small step back to lean against the wooden barrier.

He wanted to enjoy the joust, but there were too many things weighing on his mind for him to feel content watching two men he considered his friends possibly injure each other. Wilbur folded his arms over his chest and tried to push most of his worries out of his mind - this tournament was to catch Technoblade’s assassins. No need to worry about Antvenom and Minx.

As Phil’s lance slammed into Carson’s deer-head-emblazoned shield and snapped in three, Wilbur winced. There was nothing between him and the riders - just his own reflexes to save him if anything came flying his way. It didn’t seem to be bothering Sir Joshua or Tommy, though… but they were city folk. They must have been used to tournaments like these.

Tommy rushed forward as the jousting paused, heaving another lance from the sidelines and handing it up to Phil. Wilbur had no idea how he did it so easily - Tommy was tiny and lifted the lance as if it were nothing, whereas Wilbur had struggled.  _ Probably because he’s a proper squire and has done this before, not just a mage trying to pass as one, _ Wilbur grumbled silently.

Once the knights were ready again, Wilbur heard the snap of reins and the horses charged. Astutely focused on Carson, Wilbur watched as the iron-clad knight hoisted up his lance and tilted it to connect with Phil’s shield. The lance didn’t break, making Wilbur curse under his breath, but then Phil tilted sideways on his horse and crashed to the ground with a terrible clang.

Wilbur didn’t know whether it was magic or just the amount of hurt people he’d seen recently, but he knew Phil was injured and was sprinting towards him before anybody else had even started to react. Carson was still in the action of slowing down Ted, while Wilbur could hear Tommy racing behind him. Wilbur dove under the tilt barrier, ignoring the sting on his knees from scraping them on the ground, and clambered to Phil’s side.

“My- my rib is broken,” Phil groaned, his face sickly pale and contorted in an expression of pain that he looked as if he were trying to mask. “Get a doctor. I-I forfeit-”

“No, wait,” Wilbur called out as Tommy started to turn. He took a deep breath, not stopping to think about whether or not this was a good idea. “I can fix this. Trust me.” Wilbur looked from Phil to Tommy then back again. “I can heal you.”

After a moment’s hesitation, the knight and his squire exchanged a tense nod. “Do it,” Phil grunted.

Wilbur exhaled a sigh of relief. “Tommy, delay them. He’ll be fine in a moment,” Wilbur directed, to which Tommy murmured assent and dashed away. Then Wilbur turned his attention back to Phil. “Which side?” he asked, not wanting to cause Phil more pain by poking around.

“Left,” Phil muttered, shifting slightly. “Wilbur, what are you going to-”

Ignoring the question, Wilbur reached towards Phil’s side, hoping that he could heal Phil without having to take off any of Phil’s armour because that would be inconvenient. Wilbur had never tried it through metal before. When Wilbur made contact with the iron, he closed his eyes, trying to reach through the armour with his magic and find the rib that needed to be healed. For a few long moments, he was met by terrifying stillness instead of the usual pulsing of life and feeling of each bone, blood vessel, and tissue beneath the skin. Then his awareness blossomed into existence and he shuddered, feeling the telltale tingle of magic in his feet, and though his senses didn’t extend as far as usual, he could pinpoint the cracked rib and quickly started to push magic towards it.

Phil inhaled sharply and Wilbur opened his eyes before drawing his hand away. “How…” Phil started, trailing off into speechlessness. Phil moved to sit up, seeming stunned by the fact that he wasn’t met with pain.

“Magic,” Wilbur answered simply. “Come on, you have to finish your joust so that Carson can beat you fair and square.” He extended his hand to Phil and Phil took it, letting Wilbur help him up.

“You fixed my rib with magic,” Phil repeated slowly. “I thought that magic was all gone.” He continued to clutch Wilbur’s arm even after he was properly standing as if he expected his rib to suddenly fracture again.

“In the north, maybe. In the south we have the Blackthorns and, well, me, I suppose.” Wilbur scratched the back of his head.

“The gods must have a plan for you,” Phil murmured, and he looked as if he were going to say more, but Tommy rushed up before he could continue.

“Is he alright?” Tommy asked hurriedly, grabbing Phil’s other arm.

“Perfectly fine. Tell them that I was just winded,” Phil said. “Now, I have a knight to beat.” Phil glanced at Wilbur. “Thanks, Wilbur. I won’t tell anybody and I’m  _ sure,” _ he shot a sideways glare at Tommy, “that Tommy won’t either.”

“No, sir!” Tommy exclaimed. “I would never say a thing! My lips are completely sealed!” Then he paused. “Er… what am I not telling anybody?”

Phil pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was actually supposed to have four jousts in it, but it got so long that I decided to split it into two chapters, so we'll be back with Wilbur next chapter for more jousting shenanigans!  
> While on the topic of jousting, if there's anybody that has not yet been included in the story that you would like to have a cameo appearance as a knight, feel free to leave a comment telling me who you want to see and if I do not have plans for them already I will make an effort to put them in :D  
> Chapters will probably be fewer and further between for a few weeks because I'm just getting back into 'school' (not a big deal, there's not much of it) and I'm also applying for MCC 10 with some of my streamer friends! If you're just finding out now, why yes, I am a Twitch streamer, and you should check me out @ SyverneSien, I play lots of different games and _I_ think I'm hilarious, so that must count for something, right? (Shameless self-promotion is shameless! A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do)  
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed the chapter :>


	36. Wilbur Begins To Consider That Maybe Everything Was A Bad Idea

Mud splatters. Cheering. The pounding of hooves. A loud crash and a snap. Wilbur was forced to duck as pieces of Phil’s broken lance splintered in his direction. Rapid breathing. Dirty iron flashing. Impact of lances on shields as Wilbur dug his nails into his arm. One pass left, and Wilbur’s heart was thundering in his chest. Sweat trickling down his brow, Wilbur watched as Carson and Phil charged at each other again…

...and Phil’s lance struck Carson directly in the helmet.

The crowd erupted, most of the cries ones of disbelief or disappointment. Tommy swore loudly from Sir Joshua’s other side and spat on the ground, while Wilbur felt ecstatic. Phil had hit Carson in the wrong place, causing him to lose points.  _ Carson had won. _

Carson dropped down from Ted’s back and Wilbur rushed to help him. The lance was beaten in a few places, making Wilbur worry about splinters because he wasn’t wearing gloves like Carson was. But he took it anyway and disposed of it with the other lances for the next match, before taking Carson’s shield as well. The pale gold paint was chipped by the repeated impact, but the deer’s head insignia and crown it bore seemed untouched. Wilbur momentarily wondered who painted it, before Carson yanked the helmet from his head and breathed a deep sigh of relief.

“Fourteen points to seven! Sir Carson King is the winner!” Sir Joshua declared, crossing over to Carson and lifting his hand into the air. “The next match will be between Sir Travis Gold and Sir Alastair Eret.”

Travis. Wilbur felt like he hadn’t talked to Travis in forever. As the curly-haired knight emerged from the king’s stand, Wilbur reached out and blurted, “Good luck!”

“Thanks, Wilbur,” Travis replied with a smile, but before they could continue speaking, Carson caught Wilbur’s shoulder and stole his attention.

“Give Sir Phillip my condolences on his loss,” Carson told him. “I’m going to go find Schlatt.” Carson patted Wilbur’s shoulder and Wilbur privately noted that he looked exhausted. “Be safe, alright? We still have a job to do here.”

“Oh! Right!” Wilbur caught Carson’s arm as Carson went to turn away. “An assassin calling herself Minx caught me while I was poking around Antvenom’s office and stole the letter I’d found in his fireplace. I chased her to the gates and then she escaped.” Wilbur dropped his voice. “I think she might be undercover here, based on what Phil told me about her.”

Carson’s eyes widened. “Minx?” he whispered fiercely. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Wilbur replied. “So we need to keep an eye out for her as well as Technoblade’s assassins. She has-”

“I know what she looks like,” Carson interrupted. “We… we’ve had some, er,  _ disagreements _ in the past.” Carson shifted awkwardly. “Did she- did she say anything about me?”

Wilbur blinked, trying to remember. “Something about…” he started, and then it clicked. “Carson, did you drop Minx off a cliff?”

Carson laughed nervously. “Wh-what?” the knight stammered, his hand drifting to the hilt of the sword on his belt. “I don’t- Wilbur, what are you-”

“You mentioned at the feast that one of the helmeted knights reminded you of someone you used to know, but you dropped them off a cliff after they betrayed you,” Wilbur said slowly. “Phil told me that Minx fought in the war, but denied a knighthood and still uses cover as a knight when doing work. And now you know Minx and say that you’ve had ‘disagreements’. Did she…”

Carson stared at Wilbur for a few moments, his expression tight. Then he sighed, letting his head fall. “Yeah, you got me. Way before I met Schlatt… Minx and I were supposed to do a job together. Then she tried to steal my horse and frame me for a guy’s accidental death. I was, like, sixteen.” Carson shrugged. “I try not to think about it much. Doesn’t matter now.”

“Carson, she wants to  _ kill _ you,” Wilbur told him forcefully. “You might not think it matters, but clearly she does. She told me to abandon you because you were going to be dead soon.” Wilbur folded his arms over himself in a loose self-hug, wishing he had picked up his lute before leaving the castle. It made him feel safer.

Carson opened his mouth as if he were going to speak, then closed it again and let out a ‘hmph’. “Right. I will… keep an eye out for her, then. Any knights that don’t take their helmets off can be marked as suspicious, I think.” Carson reached forward and stiffly (awkwardly) patted Wilbur on the head. “Good, er, investigation skills, Wilbur. I can handle myself if she attacks me, plus I’m meeting up with Schlatt, so don’t you worry. And if you stick with Phil and Tommy, we should be alright.”

Wilbur nodded. “Okay. Just thought you should know. I think the letter she stole from me might be helpful as well, so if we could get it back…” He raised his eyebrows hopefully.

“First, focus on the tournament. Then we can try to hunt down Minx. King Jordan’s life is more important than a letter, Wilbur,” Carson advised.

“But the letter was-” Wilbur protested.

Carson raised a hand and cut Wilbur off with a quick gesture. “Tell me more about the letter later. I don’t want to leave Schlatt waiting, and Travis and Eret are just about ready to go. Get back to the stands and join your friend.” Carson pulled a tight smile. “I know this is work, but try to enjoy yourself a little bit, Wilbur.”

“Sure, sure,” Wilbur responded dismissively, frowning. Everything about  _ everything _ felt strange. He couldn’t help but think that he was missing a piece of the puzzle. Minx, Antvenom, Technoblade, Phil and Tommy… there was something, maybe even someone, else. After waving goodbye to Carson and moving back towards the stands, Wilbur swept his gaze over the crowd and assorted gathered people.

Sitting down next to Tommy, Wilbur rested his head on his hands and, while only half paying attention to Travis and Eret’s joust, drew his small journal, one of the only things he’d brought from home, out of his pocket. At first, it had been simply a record of what he was doing, but then it had evolved into a notebook of clues and information. Wilbur’s messy notes, condensed, were as follows:

  1. Technoblade was trying to assassinate King Jordan and claim his throne for himself because Technoblade was the true heir of King Nathan.
    1. King Jordan did not believe that Technoblade was the true heir of King Nathan.
    2. Technoblade was eighteen years old.
    3. Technoblade had orchestrated the first attempt on King Jordan’s life with a single assassin about a week and a half earlier.
    4. The jousting tournament was being held to draw the assassins out into the open in the hopes that they could be caught, forcing Technoblade into a more head-on conflict.
  2. Somebody else was also trying to disrupt the peace in Irys.
    1. It was not Technoblade because this mystery figure’s plans conflicted with Technoblade’s.
    2. Vice Taylor Antvenom was the most likely candidate, as if King Jordan stepped down or was killed, he would ascend to the throne.
      1. Vice Taylor had a wife and child that were murdered by Windwings eighteen years ago. He might blame King Jordan for it, giving him another motive.
      2. The mysterious letter that Wilbur had found in Vice Taylor’s fireplace might have clues, but Wilbur couldn’t remember what it had said.
  3. Minx had stolen the letter from Wilbur and was on a mission to kill Carson. She also had another mission which she hadn’t revealed to Wilbur.
    1. She was an assassin.
    2. She had betrayed Carson after the war.
    3. She had a male pseudonym that she used to go undercover.
      1. It was likely that Minx was participating in the tournament using this name.
      2. The knights that Wilbur couldn’t confirm _weren’t_ her so far were Sir Alastair Eret and Sir Callum Redwing, though there were still many more jousts to go so it wasn’t guaranteed to be either of them.



_ Redwing. _ Again, the name sounded familiar, but wherever Wilbur had heard it, it must not have been important enough for him to make note of. Wilbur felt like there was something he was missing, something  _ so obvious… _

And then the pieces fell into place, and Wilbur stood up so fast that he nearly pulled a muscle.

“Wilbur?” Tommy prompted, looking up at him. “Where are you going?” Tommy reached up and tugged at Wilbur’s sleeve, trying to pull him back down. “Come on, Wil-”

“I have to speak to Carson,” Wilbur interjected, pulling his arm out of Tommy’s grasp.  _ Or the king. _ “I just- I know what Minx is here to do.”

“Wilbur,” Phil started, his tone dark with warning. “Sit back down and enjoy the joust. You don’t have to worry about Minx.” There was an emotion in Phil’s gaze that Wilbur didn’t understand - worry, maybe? Paranoia?

“A man is going to die- no, two men are going to die if I don’t do something,” Wilbur said hurriedly. “I have to… I’ll explain later. I’m sorry.” And with that, Wilbur stuffed his journal back in the pocket of his trousers and pushed his way out of the stand.

The crowd was still focused on the joust and Wilbur looked back at the stands, trying to spot Carson’s distinct mop of messy hair and askew glasses, but couldn’t find him. Carson had said that he was going to find Schlatt, which should have made the duo  _ easy _ to find, considering one of them was a seven-foot-tall goat demon, but somehow Wilbur was struggling. He frowned.

Well, if he couldn’t find Carson to warn the king, then Wilbur was going to have to just warn the king himself. Wilbur turned on his heel, back towards the joust, and flinched out of surprise as Travis’ lance cracked against Eret’s shield.

As the knights paused to reset, Wilbur ran past the tilt towards the king’s box. He glanced over his shoulder, not wanting to get hit by a stray lance, and looked back just in time to stop himself from walking directly into someone. He spoke before he could fully process, saying, “Oh, sorry-” and then broke off as Vice Taylor Antvenom cocked a quizzical eyebrow at him.

Wilbur’s heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. He inhaled sharply through his nose and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers, pulling on a neutral expression and trying to appear as if he didn’t believe this man to be capable of coldhearted murder.

“Someone’s in a hurry,” Antvenom commented, off-putting humour in the twist of his lips. “What are you doing over here, Wilbur? I thought you weren’t supposed to show that you’re associated with the Crown.” The vice was standing tall, cane looking more decorative than an aid, and appeared somewhat more confident than he had the previous day. Wilbur didn’t know whether or not he should be worried about that.

“I have important information for King Jordan about Technoblade’s assassin,” Wilbur blurted. “I have to speak to him.” Wilbur realized, now that they were standing so close, that Antvenom wasn’t much taller than he was.

“The king is occupied by the jousting,” Antvenom replied evenly. “I can take a message, if it’s really that important. And if the king should know, don’t you think I should know as well?” The smile that accompanied this statement was supposed to be reassuring, Wilbur was sure, but it was far from that. Wilbur knew he was being unfair - hell, they weren’t even sure if Antvenom was responsible for  _ anything _ shady at this point, it was just a suspicion - but the vice was really starting to make him anxious.

“Right, yes, okay,” Wilbur stammered. He didn’t know if he could trust Antvenom to pass along the message, but at least then there was more of a chance of it reaching King Jordan before lunch than if Wilbur gave up and went away. “I believe that Technoblade’s assassin is a woman named Minx who is undercover as a knight at the tournament. I don’t know which one she is, but any knights who refuse to remove their helmets should be put under watch.”

Antvenom’s expression turned thoughtful. “And what evidence do you have for this?” he inquired, leaning back slightly.

Briefly and as vaguely as he could, Wilbur explained what Phil had told him and his encounter with Minx. Strategically, Wilbur avoided saying that he had been breaking into Antvenom’s office when said encounter with Minx had occurred. The vice’s expression was terse throughout the explanation, and Wilbur wished he could read the lines on his face as well as he could read the lines in a book. Or at least have an inkling of what was going on behind those serious brown eyes.

“Thank you,” Antvenom said gruffly, interrupting Wilbur in the middle of his last word. “I’ll bring this to Jordan’s attention at once.” He glanced over his shoulder at the nobility’s stand. “Don’t you have a knight and a joust to be getting back to?”

“Er… yes, sir. Are you sure I can’t speak to the king myself?” Wilbur asked hopefully, lifting his eyebrows. He understood the importance of the tournament, but this was of importance as well. Surely their entire plan wouldn’t fall apart if Wilbur spoke to the king for a few minutes?

“Fairly sure, seeing as I’m the one who organized this whole debacle in the first place.” The vice’s boredom was articulated by a curt roll of his eyes. “Run along, Wilbur. You’re supposed to be an ordinary squire, remember?” There was something in Antvenom’s tone that indicated he was being particularly forceful out of stress and worry, not inherent meanness, but Wilbur didn’t trust it.

“I know, sir, but-” Wilbur started, taking a step forward, but Antvenom quickly and lightly whacked him in the ankle with his cane. “Ow!” It was just a momentary sting, enough to throw Wilbur off.

“Wilbur!” Antvenom’s tone was sharp. “I don’t want this entire plan being jeopardized because you decided that you don’t trust me for whatever reason. I assure you,” Antvenom narrowed his eyes, “that the king will receive your message posthaste.” A cry went up from the crowd and Wilbur and Antvenom both looked towards the tilt at the same time. It seemed that Eret had won the joust, causing a mild upset from those Irys citizens who were rooting for the Crownguard knights. “They’re switching. Perfect time for you to slip back unnoticed.” Antvenom inclined his head down to Wilbur and Wilbur nodded back.

Wilbur turned and sprinted across the dirt, dodging a young boy that looked to be about Tommy’s age - Wilbur assumed he was a squire or a stablehand - as he went. The throbbing in Wilbur’s ankle quickly subsided as he made his way back into the stands, shuffling along and making space for himself next to Tommy and Phil again.

“What was that all about, Wil? Was that the vice?” Tommy questioned, his eyebrows poking up underneath his hairline in an expression of curiosity. Phil’s eyes flicked over to the two younger boys and then back again - he seemed to be feigning disinterest in their conversation.

“Nothing important,” Wilbur dismissed cautiously, “and yeah.” He paused briefly, trying to come up with a plausible lie. He looked back over at the king’s stand and caught a glimpse of green scales again - that was it! “I was trying to go see Cooper. Antvenom was telling me that I couldn’t.”

“How do  _ you _ know the merfolk prince?” Tommy asked, eyebrows coming back down to furrow.

“Just met him recently in the castle courtyard,” Wilbur replied. “Could you stop interrogating me, Tommy? I haven’t done anything, great gods.”

Tommy hummed and bumped Wilbur’s side with his arm. “Yeah. Sorry, Wil. Just wondering, y’know? If I’m being honest, you’re kind of…” Tommy hesitated, “...odd.”

“You and Phil are  _ also _ odd, Tommy, so don’t try to pull that on me,” Wilbur snapped. “I barely know anything about either of you, can you blame me for not wanting to spill the beans about everything in my life?”

Tommy stared at him for a moment. “I-I guess you’re right,” he stammered. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. Sorry again, Wilbur. Didn’t mean to offend you or anything.”

Before Wilbur could assure Tommy that he hadn’t been offended, Phil leaned over and hissed, “Boys, pipe down and pay attention.”

The knights, Joko and Callum (Redwing), had just mounted their horses as Phil had urged Wilbur’s attention back to the jousting. Wilbur’s thoughts tumulted through his brain like a hurricane, mixing fact and suspicion and missing pieces as he mostly tuned out the joust - Tommy seemed to be paying attention, though, as he made quiet exclamations whenever something exciting happened.

“Final tilt!” Tommy cried in Wilbur’s ear, making him wince. “Redwing is down two points, Wil, I hope he can pull it off.” Tommy shook Wilbur’s arm, his eyes alight with fire.

Wilbur rolled his eyes and decided to focus on the last tilt. He didn’t have a particular emotional investment in either knight - he supposed he was rooting for Joko since he was on the Crownguard. Wilbur was mid-yawn when it happened, so he didn’t quite catch what exactly had occurred, but it certainly caught his attention when Joko toppled off the front of his horse and landed in a clearly painful position.

“Oh!” Tommy shouted, leaping to his feet. “That was  _ nasty, _ great gods, do you think he’s-” Tommy didn’t have to finish his sentence before they got the answer - a doctor had raced onto the field without a moment’s hesitation and kneeled next to Joko. There was a brief pause, as if the entire audience was holding its breath, before the doctor looked over at Sir Joshua and shook her head.

_ He’s not okay- _

_ Will he forfeit? _

_ He’s hurt! _

_ Does Redwing win? _

Whispers passed throughout the crowd as Joko was helped to his feet and escorted away from the tilt. Wilbur wrung his hands together, a trickle of worry spreading down his spine - not just for Joko, but for what impact this would have on the tournament. The tournament they were relying on to catch Technoblade’s assassins.

“Quiet!” Sir Joshua declared, and the whispers faded into the wind. “As far as can be told from a first glance, Sir Joko’s leg is broken and it is unlikely that he will be continuing to participate in the tournament. This was an unfortunate accident - judges have declared that Sir Callum Redwing is not responsible for Sir Joko’s injury, and therefore the winner of the last joust for this morning.” Sir Joshua paused. “The tournament will reconvene after lunch. Thank you.”

Wilbur slumped back against his seat. First Phil, now Joko. Could things go any worse for them?

With a start, Wilbur realized that Phil was trying to talk to him. “Wilbur, we’re going to go get lunch. Do you want to come with us? We can find Sir Carson and Schlatt on the way.”

“Oh, mhm, yeah, sure,” Wilbur muttered. So screw him, he was nervous. Of course he was gods-damned nervous. Not only was this whole thing dangerous on the surface, but now things were going wrong. Wilbur wanted to be helpful and confident, but the truth was, he just didn’t know what to do.

Tommy tugged Wilbur’s arm and pulled him to his feet. “C’mon, Wil, he’ll be fine. This sort of thing happens all the time,” Tommy reassured him, sounding more dismissive than Wilbur would have liked. “No worries. Poki will have him back on his feet soon.”

“His leg is broken, Tommy, that’s not a simple fix,” Wilbur rebuked. “One of my brothers broke his leg when he was twelve and it got infected and he’ll never walk again.”  _ If I had known about my magic, I could have helped, _ Wilbur thought bitterly. He wanted to go help Joko, but he knew what Carson would say. “Gods, this whole tournament is kind of a disaster.”

Tommy patted him on the shoulder. “Hey, at least nobody’s died yet,” he joked.

Wilbur had never felt more inclined to punch a child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all better have been taking notes on all this because there will be a pop quiz- well, not really, but if you want to make any sort of solid theory or prediction or put the pieces together before Wilbur or anybody else does, you'll probably need some notes! Hence why I just about handed this to y'all. I'm getting a little tired of nobody putting puzzle pieces together /j  
> Because of school and stuff updates will be slower, and I also keep getting distracted by Dream SMP. Next chapter will be back to our fish lad, Cooper, so stay tuned!


	37. The Truth About Cooper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some housekeeping stuff!  
> There is now a new foreword on chapter one.  
> There is now a Discord server that I'm not going to delete even if it dies, this time. Join it [here!](https://discord.gg/sgb6nhz2nZ)

Caldwell caught Cooper by the arm, a pleasant smile on his face. “Cooper!” Caldwell cried. “I’m treating everybody to lunch. Including Daniel, which I hope you don’t mind.” They were standing by the jousting field, watching the knights and their associates dismiss for lunch. “There’s a very nice place just inside Justice Square, it’s technically a tavern but they have amazing food.” Caldwell regarded Cooper sternly. “And no, I’m not going to let you drink.”

“What’s the point of going to a tavern if I’m not going to drink?” Cooper joked dryly. “Anyway, you’re not my dad.” Though Caldwell was the closest he had to a father figure - his grandfather was terrible and both of his biological fathers were dead. Then Cooper decided that he should probably stop thinking about that. He rolled his eyes to try to bring himself back to the conversation.

“No, but Toby would kill me,” Caldwell pointed out, “and I am not about to get stabbed by a fish with a particularly deadly spear.” He continued grinning as if this entire conversation was one hilarious joke. “Get Toby and let’s go.”

“Uh- yeah, will do,” Cooper replied, frantically searching the crowd for a glint of light blue scales. “I’ll find her,” he promised, looking back at Caldwell and retreating a few steps.

“Don’t be long, okay? We don’t want to be late back for the afternoon,” Caldwell said. He patted Cooper on the head, which Cooper was tempted to see as condescending, but Cooper had no time to make any sort of remark about it before Caldwell was gently pushing him towards the crowd. “If you get lost, just ask one of the knights in an orange or yellow cloak. Have fun!”

_ Have fun? I’m just going to find Toby, how fun is that? _ Cooper thought, but he knew he was wasting time already. Cooper flipped up the collar of his wool-lined jacket and dashed into the crowd, once again searching for the telltale sign of scales. He got distracted as he was dipping around people by the sight of something blue, and as he turned his head, his foot caught on a loose stone in the dirt and he stumbled forward. Cooper collided with something solid and went tumbling to the ground on top of it, whacking his chin on the polished metal of armour. It took far too long, in Cooper’s opinion, for him to realize that he’d just run into another person and was currently sitting on, laying on top of, or otherwise occupying the same space as them in a way that prevented them from getting up.

It was a young man, with curly brown hair that bounced as he shook his head to clear it. He was wearing particularly nice-looking iron armour and an orange cloak, and it looked as if he’d been carrying his helmet under his arm, because it was laying a few feet away. Cooper assumed from the armour that he was a knight - most of the civilians around were dressed in ordinary clothes.

“Sorry!” Cooper yelped, sliding off of the knight and getting to his feet. “I’ll- I can help you up, sorry, I didn’t see you there.” He offered his hand to the knight and he took it, letting Cooper support him as he got to his feet. The crowd had thinned a bit around him as people noticed their accident and made to avoid them.

“Oh, it’s alright,” the knight said, giving Cooper a dismissive wave. “Not a big deal.” He flashed Cooper a small, reassuring smile.

As the knight went to retrieve his helmet, something clicked in Cooper’s mind from watching the jousting that morning, and he blurted, “Aren’t you Sir Travis?”

The knight froze momentarily, before putting his helmet back under his arm and pulling on a weak grin. “Yeah- yeah, that’s me, youngest member of the Crownguard and all that…” Travis sighed. “Look, I’m not having a great morning, I just got my butt kicked by a country knight that nobody’s even heard of, and I can feel the vice’s disappointment from all the way over here. So, if we could just move along…”

Cooper’s face scrunched into a look of pity. “Oh, that’s too bad. I’m Cooper, by the way. I’m here with Lord Caldwell.” Cooper extended his hand to shake, and Travis just looked at it for a second, having to shift his helmet to his other arm before taking it.

“Travis,” Travis replied, shaking Cooper’s hand.

“You already said that,” Cooper reminded him, to which Travis laughed awkwardly and passed his helmet back to his other arm.

“No,  _ you _ said that,” Travis shot back. “It’s completely different. I still need to introduce myself even if you already know my name, that’s how things work.”

Cooper snickered. “No, it’s not,” he retorted. “You literally don’t need to say your name if I already know what your name is.”

“I was being polite!” Travis exclaimed. “Gods- just let me introduce myself without being all…” Travis made some strange hand gesture that Cooper didn’t understand.

“What the hell was that supposed to be?” Cooper asked, trying not to laugh. “Like, seriously, man, I have no idea what that meant. I can’t even make a guess.”

“Just… I don’t know!” Travis squeezed his eyes shut and was silent for a few moments, as if he were trying to gather his thoughts. “Gods above, okay. Anyway, moving on…” Travis shifted awkwardly. “I think I have somewhere to be? I mean, I haven’t been told I have to be anywhere, but I do need to get lunch and I’m hoping Josh will let me go with him.”

“Sorry again for running into you,” Cooper said with an apologetic smile.

Travis made a quiet noise of amusement. “Believe me, there are worse people I could have been nearly run over by,” he replied. “Uh… have a nice day, Cooper.” A nervous smile twitched up the edges of Travis’ lips and he gave Cooper a small wave with one hand.

“Yeah, you too,” Cooper responded. He paused for a moment, letting Travis start to walk away, before he called out, “Hey, Travis, if I happened to bump into you again, would you have more time to stay and chat?”

“If you bumped into me at the right time, sure,” Travis called back, lifting his helmet onto his head. “Try after dinner!”

“Will do,” Cooper promised. He returned the wave before mashing his hands into his pockets and turning away, with the full intention to talk to Travis again that evening.

Finally, Cooper found Toby in the crowd and raced towards her, where he found her deep in conversation with a dark-haired woman in a slightly rusted set of armour. One of her pauldrons was styled after a crow (or a raven, Cooper couldn’t tell), and she glanced over at Cooper as he approached.

“Toby,” Cooper started, glancing between Toby and the unfamiliar woman. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No, not at all,” the woman said with a smile. “I don’t think we’ve met - I’m Sir Kara Corvus. How do you do?”

“Uh- good. I’m Prince Cooper,” Cooper replied, adding his honorific because he felt it was only fitting with Kara adding hers. “Nice to meet you. I was just coming to get Toby.”

Kara stared at him for a few long moments, making Cooper feel slightly uneasy.

“Do you… have something you want to say?” Cooper asked slowly.

“I’m just used to people’s first words to me after I introduce myself being something along the lines of ‘blah blah female knight using sir bah humbug’,” Kara said dryly. “I was waiting for the question. Or the statement.”

Cooper shrugged. “I couldn’t care less whether or not you use sir, it doesn’t affect me,” he said. Cooper then turned to Toby and told her, “Caldwell’s taking us somewhere for lunch.”

“You should probably get going, then,” Kara put in with a nod to Toby. “Wouldn’t want to keep a lord waiting.”

“Cooper,” Toby turned to look at him, “Kara here is a war hero and the first female knight in this kingdom to be officially knighted and registered as such under her own name. She was knighted by King Jordan the day of his coronation.”

“That seems incredibly specific,” Cooper joked lightheartedly. “Er, congratulations, Sir Ka- just Kara?”

“Just Kara is fine,” Kara told him. “And yes, it’s incredibly specific because there were female knights before me, just not officially registered ones, and registered female knights, but ones that were masquerading as men when they received their knighthood. Nonetheless, it’s a pretty important milestone in our kingdom’s history.” Kara paused, looking over at Toby again. “You really should get going. I have a lunch to eat as fast as possible and then a joust to prepare for.”

“I’ll be rooting for you,” Toby promised, moving to stand beside Cooper. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.” Kara’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Enjoy your lunch.” She gave them a small salute before disappearing into the thinning crowd.

Toby put a hand on Cooper’s shoulder as they turned to walk away. She seemed uneasy.

“What were you talking about?” Cooper asked quietly, worried.

Toby gave a small sigh. “Discussing who we thought would replace Sir Joko on the Crownguard,” Toby answered. “Because he’s broken his leg.”

“I didn’t know you knew that much about Cypress,” Cooper commented honestly.

“I don’t - hence why I was talking to Kara,” Toby replied.

Cooper paused for a moment. “So, who  _ do _ you think will replace Sir Joko on the Crownguard?”

“Well, there are some rumours that it might be Sir Kara herself,” Toby said. “Kara doesn’t think so, though. The king’s in a hurry and a sticky situation - he’ll want a good knight that he trusts a lot, and there aren’t many of those out there. The most likely candidates, Kara feels, are Sir Ryan Krinios - you saw him joust this morning, the king apparently knows him well, but his one eye is a drawback - and Sir William Tucker Jericho, an old friend of the king’s, but there’s something else about him that Kara didn’t want to discuss.”

“That’s a mouthful of a name,” Cooper huffed. “Something else that might stop him from being chosen?”

Toby sighed. “I don’t know. One thing I’ve discovered on all my visits to Cypress is that humans are incredibly, incredibly strange.”

* * *

“Daniel, so help me gods, if you drink another one of those before our food has even arrived, I will- no, Toby will kill you,” Caldwell said half-jokingly, with a very pointed sideways look at Daniel, who was holding a nearly-empty glass of something Cooper didn’t recognize. “Think about the  _ child.” _

“Adopted another one?” Daniel joked, before downing the last mouthful in his glass. “Altrive will be happy to know that he’s got a fishy brother.”

Caldwell snickered. “C’mon, it’s what I do. My natural father figure instinct just,” Caldwell made a light punching motion, “kicks in.”

Cooper laughed at that, before burying his face in his glass of water.

“If I was any younger, I know you’d adopt me too,” Daniel continued. “Instead, people just think we’re-”

“-think I’m cheating on my wife with you or something,” Caldwell finished with a chuckle. He turned to Toby and Cooper, who were sitting on the other side of the table. “I’m not, by the way.”

“I was really worried for a second there,” Toby replied dryly, her eyes narrowed.

Daniel sighed. “One too many late night chess games with the carriage driver and everybody thinks you’re sleeping together.” He went to take another sip of his drink before realizing that it was all gone and looking disappointed. “Can I get another-”

“What did I  _ just say?” _ Caldwell interrupted.

“That you weren’t cheating on your wife with me,” Daniel answered matter-of-factly. He paused, then said, “Fine. I’ll get one of those cranberry thingies instead.”

Eager to change the topic of the conversation, Cooper leaned across the table. “Caldwell,” he started. “The square, outside… I noticed some weird red stones-” Cooper didn’t even have to finish his sentence before Caldwell lept in enthusiastically.

“Justice Square! Originally established for public trials and executions,” Caldwell explained. “There hasn’t been any of those in nearly twenty years, though - the king is not awfully fond of that sort of, ah, punishment. The red stone you saw is stained with, um, well, I’m sure you can guess from what I just told you.” Caldwell shifted awkwardly. “Now, it’s a market square. And I hope that I never have to see anybody get beheaded there ever again.”

Cooper pushed his glass of water away from him, suddenly feeling nauseous. “Right. Yeah.” He glanced over at Toby, who was being oddly quiet. “Thanks.”

Caldwell’s smile faltered. “Not the happiest bit of information, I know.” He sighed. “Cypress has a long and bloody history, Cooper. King Jordan is one of very few monarchs to reign in relative peace and with mercy… and of course his time as king has to be interrupted by a revolution.” Caldwell put his hands down on the table. “The nicest monarch we’ve had in centuries and  _ he’s _ the one the public decides-”

“Keep your voice down,” Daniel warned, placing a hand on Caldwell’s shoulder. “You should know better. We’re in public in the middle of the biggest city in Cypress. Anybody could be listening.” Daniel paused. “But I agree.”

“Even though you’re still salty he didn’t give you a knighthood,” Caldwell pointed out.

“Even though I’m still salty he didn’t give me a knighthood,” Daniel repeated, sounding tired, as if he’d had this conversation many times before. “Yeah. To be fair, he can’t knight everyone.” Daniel shrugged. “So now I’m a carriage driver.”

“Does the king knight… every knight? That seems like a whole lot of work,” Cooper put in.

“Most of them,” Daniel said. “A knight can be knighted by any other knight, but in order to be officially recognized as a knight, they have to then be registered with the Crown, so it’s a lot easier if the king just does the knighting.” Daniel stopped and snickered for a moment. “Goodnight, am I right?”

Caldwell laughed. Cooper didn’t find it very funny.

“Oh.” Cooper pulled his glass of water back towards himself and peered into it. There was a speck of dust floating in it, so he stuck his finger in it to try to get it out. It didn’t work.

“What are you doing?” Toby questioned, leaning over to look into his glass as well.

“Ah, she speaks!” Daniel joked, to which Toby gave him a pointed glare.

“Trying to fish this speck out of my water,” Cooper answered, ignoring Daniel.

“Well, stop it,” Toby replied. “You’re still a prince, and princes don’t poke around in their water glasses.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know - y’know, because we  _ live _ in the  _ ocean, _ which is literally  _ made of water,” _ Cooper said sarcastically. Then, in an attempt to annoy Toby more, Cooper downed his entire glass of water with an obnoxious gulping sound. He slammed it back down on the table in a fluid motion and said, “Daniel’s right, though, you have been kinda quiet and, uh, ticked off since we got here. Is it the,” Cooper made a vague hand gesture as he tried to find the word, “Crownguard thing?”

Toby shook her head and sighed. “As Daniel also said, there are too many eyes and ears around here. I’ll talk to you about it after lunch,” she promised.

Before the conversation could continue, they were interrupted by a waiter delivering their food, and the air around the table shifted.

* * *

“You sure you don’t want a ride back?” Daniel called, hopping up into the front seat of the carriage. “It’s a long walk to take in the rain.”

Toby drew up the hood of her cloak. “We’ll walk. Tell Caldwell that we’ll meet him there and not to wait for us,” she replied.

Daniel flashed them a smile before putting up his own hood. “Alright, be safe,” he said.

Toby acknowledged Daniel with a wave, before turning to Cooper and saying, “C’mon.”

Cooper stuttered in his stride as he went to join Toby. A shiver ran down his spine, the rain cold against his smooth scales. He’d already thought that Cypress was colder than the Ocean Kingdoms - this was even worse. Dark clouds had gathered in the sky while they were in for lunch, and by the time they’d emerged, the heavens had opened and rain had started pouring down. Cooper had seen plenty of worse storms out in the sea, but when he was underwater, he didn’t notice it much. He certainly didn’t have an issue with being wet… but his fur-lined human clothes did, and Cooper didn’t like how they seemed to weigh more and constrict his movement when damp.

“I need a cloak like yours,” Cooper grunted to Toby, folding his arms around himself. “This coat was supposed to keep me warm, and now I’m even colder.” Annoyed, Cooper looked up at the sky, then flinched when a raindrop hit him directly in the eye. “Are they still going to joust in this weather?”

“I don’t see why not,” Toby answered. “It’s just a bit of rain.” She shot him a sideways smirk. “Toughen up, Cooper.”

“Says the one with a cloak,” Cooper huffed. “Why are we walking in the rain, Toby?”

Toby was quiet for a few moments. “The letter I gave you when we left the coast,” she started quietly. “Do you still have it?”

Cooper reached into the inside pocket of his coat, finding the rolled-up scroll still neatly tucked there. “Yeah,” Cooper answered. He’d nearly forgotten about it, with everything that had been going on.

“Have you read it yet?” Toby asked, looking over at him from beneath her hood. Her face was stony and serious.

Cooper gulped. “Er, no,” he muttered, glancing down at the ground and kicking a pebble away with his boot. “Should I have?”

Toby didn’t answer. “Read it now,” she said instead.

“It’s raining-”

Toby grabbed Cooper and pulled him into a side street, where an overhang blocked the rain from getting to them. She yanked down her hood and repeated, “Read it now, Cooper.”

Cooper didn’t like her tone, but he drew out the scroll and cracked the wax seal anyway. With a glance at her, Cooper unrolled the letter and began to read.

_ Cooper, _ it read.  _ If this letter has made it into your care, it means that Lucio and I have failed and are probably dead. _

Cooper put the letter down and took a deep breath. “Dante wrote this,” he stated, to which Toby nodded. “My father.” Toby nodded again. Cooper tried to swallow the lump in his throat but couldn’t. He lifted the paper and continued reading.

_ You’ve probably learned about this in your history classes, but I’m going to explain it again. For thousands of years, the merfolk people have had certain ones among them with the ability to see into the future. We, creatively, called them seers. Your grandfather, as far as the general public knows, was the last seer - he destroyed the magic item that supposedly caused merfolk to have the chance to be born with future-sight abilities as part of the agreement that unified the Ocean Kingdoms. _

_ It’s not true. Yes, we once had seers, but they weren’t caused by an enchanted hunk of rock. It’s a hereditary ability. Not only did your grandfather perpetuate this lie that seers have been keeping for generations, but he also took advantage of the rarity of his ability to deceive not just our people, but the rest of the Ocean Kingdoms as well. _

_ You’ve heard the story. Allon Pihs had a vision that a great evil would plague the seas and destroy us all unless we united, and with this knowledge of the future, brought together the Ocean Kingdoms into one country. It was a lie. He had no such vision of the future. Your grandfather created the chuul himself using dark magic, the magic of Windwings and demons, as proof that his false vision was real. And then he lost control of them, and now they  _ will _ destroy us all unless someone reveals his treachery and uses that same dark magic to banish them back into the pits of hell, or kill them all. _

_ My son, your grandfather was not the last seer. When you were born, he had a vision - a real one - in which you had inherited his powers and used them to see the truth. Your other father and I were presented with an ultimatum - have your powers locked away using Allon’s dark magic, or he would kill you. I’m sure you can guess which one we chose. _

_ Eventually, the curse will start to wear off, which is why this letter exists. If neither of us is around to tell you and let you take it in stride, this is everything you need to know. I hope you never have to read this, Cooper. _

_ If you  _ are _ reading this, I’m sorry. _

_ Love, _

_ Your father, Dante. _

Something splattered onto the paper and Cooper couldn’t tell whether it was the rain or his tears.

“You gonna be okay?” Toby asked quietly as Cooper put the letter down, silent and melancholic.

“You knew this whole time,” Cooper muttered. “This is why I needed a bodyguard.”

Toby nodded slowly. “None of this was in the plan. Lucio and Dante were supposed to help you through this, help you figure out what to do, help keep you safe.”

Cooper balled his hands into fists, crumpling the paper. “But instead, they died. At the hands of my- Allon’s  _ monsters,” _ he growled.

Toby reached out and grabbed Cooper’s upper arm to stabilize him. “It’ll be alright. You know the truth now.”

“No,” Cooper said, stuffing the letter into his coat pocket. “No, it won’t be alright. It won’t be alright until Allon is locked away or… or…” He hesitated.

“You’re not going to kill your grandfather,” Toby murmured, her tone alight with warning.

  
“I’m not going to kill my grandfather,” Cooper agreed, “but I am going to make him  _ pay.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a while, huh? Welcome to more lore time with Cooper & co! If you enjoyed the chapter, I really appreciate all comments and kudos, so please consider leaving one :D


	38. Charlie And Tubbo Complete A Sidequest & Connor… Is Connor, I Guess

Charlie hopped up onto Lion’s back, dark green cloak wrapped tightly around his shoulders against the wind and rain. He held the horse steady as Jay threatened to fall out of the saddle - though Lion was a slime creature, he still didn’t seem to like the thunder very much. The storm had been slowly worsening, though Charlie could see blue skies close on the horizon. Because of Jay’s condition, Charlie had been forced to sit behind him, making the whole arrangement slightly more awkward than Charlie wanted it to be.

“You know where you’re going?” Karl asked, taking a step back. “Straight up the main street to the castle, ask for Dr Pokimane, _insist_ if you have to, she’ll help you whether the guards want her to or not.”

“I heard you the first couple of times, but yeah,” Charlie replied. “I’ll, uh, I’ll be back soon, I promise.” He managed a small smile, despite the freezing cold against his face and hands, and the direness of the situation at hand.

“Wait,” a voice croaked, and Charlie glanced back to see Noah emerge from the stairs that led down to where Karl’s apartment was. “Charlie. I’ve got something I want to give you.” Bandages covered Noah’s upper chest instead of a shirt, and Charlie wondered for a moment how Noah wasn’t freezing.

Charlie let go of the reins and slid backwards in the saddle so that he could turn. “What is it?” he asked, reaching up to wipe his glasses with his sleeve, but succeeding in only making them blurrier.

Noah dropped something metallic and weighted into Charlie’s palm as Charlie frantically tried to clean his glasses off. “It’s a medal I won during the war, when I was a general, before I deserted. If you see my brother Travis, I want you to give it to him. And tell him that I miss him.” Noah sounded slightly hesitant, but Charlie knew he didn’t have a great relationship with his brother, so that was probably why.

Finally, Charlie managed to clear his vision, and looked down at the small copper medal. “I will,” Charlie promised. “What does he look like?” He took the medal and pinned it to his tunic underneath the cloak.

“Shorter than me, curly hair, orange cloak, kind of squishy-looking but would probably only hesitate a little bit if asked to kill you,” Noah answered. He looked as if he were going to say more, but a shudder went through his frame and he was forced to lean against Fitz, who was standing with Karl. “Just… if you see him, y’know, it’s not a big deal-”

“Noah,” Charlie said firmly, cutting Noah off. “I’ll tell him.” Charlie smiled, a genuine smile, and seated himself in the saddle again. “I have to go.”

“Be safe, kid,” Noah said with a nod. “Good luck.”

Charlie snapped the reins and Lion bolted out into the street, hooves thundering on the cobblestone road and through the puddles. He didn’t look back, knowing that Karl, Fitz, and Noah would have already vanished back inside to take care of the others. It took a few turns for Charlie to make it onto the wide main street, mostly deserted due to the storm, but once he was on it, he spurred Lion on faster. Time was of the essence. The sooner he could get Jay help, the sooner he could get back to planning another tunnel expedition. _If there’s going to be another tunnel expedition…_

There had to be. Charlie refused to leave Pyro down there with a madman and whatever monsters had attacked the Misfits and Noah. If he had to, Charlie would go into the tunnels by himself - even if it would be considered a suicide mission by the others.

Lion charged through the now dreary square in front of the castle and pounded over the titanic drawbridge into the courtyard. Charlie had expected something reminiscent of his family’s castle, but this was far from it - intimidating towers and clean stables, neatly-polished stone that was being hammered by the rain but bore no signs of wear, towering parapets lined with surly knights, and even in the middle of a storm, people buzzing around getting things done. He steered Lion towards the stables, where a young boy was attempting to calm some of the startled horses.

“Excuse me!” Charlie called out, pulling back on Lion’s reins to halt him. Jay winced, but otherwise didn’t seem to be in immediate peril, which Charlie supposed was good.

The stablehand, a boy with messily-cut brown hair, blue eyes that reflected the colour of the sky on a nicer day than this, and pale skin that was dotted with a few freckles here and there, looked over at Charlie as he slid down from Lion’s back. “How can I help you?” the boy asked, petting down the mane of a white stallion.

“He’s- he’s got a broken ankle,” Charlie explained, gesturing to Jay.

It seemed like that was all he needed to say. The stablehand’s eyes widened and he paced past Charlie. “I’ll take you to a doctor.”

“I was told to ask for Pokimane,” Charlie said, leading Lion after the stablehand so that Jay didn’t need to walk.

“Dr Poki! Yeah, she’s great,” the boy replied. “Over here. I’ll help you get your friend inside; Dr Poki’s office isn’t far.” He stopped at a door that was simply labelled ‘hospital’ on a small plaque, and Charlie realized that perhaps he should have looked around first. “I’m Tubbo, by the way.”

“I’m Charlie.” He paused. “And this is Jay. If I go on one side and you go on the other- his good ankle needs to get on the ground first,” Charlie said hurriedly.

“Which one’s his good ankle?” Tubbo asked, stepping over to Lion and patting the slime-horse on the snout.

“Left one,” Jay grunted, to Charlie’s surprise.

“Alright, so if you go on the right, I’ll help him down on the left and you just need to try to get his right leg over the horse without, uh, hurting it more,” Charlie directed, moving to Jay’s left and reaching up to grab Jay’s arm.

“I can do that,” Tubbo said with a nod. He looked up at Jay. “If I hurt you, tell me and I’ll stop, okay?” He blinked.

Jay made a sound of assent and seemed to brace himself.

Charlie was initially anxious, but Tubbo managed to get Jay’s leg over Lion’s back without Jay protesting, and then Charlie helped Jay down onto the ground. “Perfect,” Charlie said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Tubbo.”

Tubbo slipped over and underneath Jay’s right arm, supporting him from the other side. “I got him. Now, let’s get him to Dr Poki.”

* * *

_Scratch._

“So, what’s the plan?” Seto asked, regarding Tom and Pyro from where he was tucked in the corner of the cave.

_Scratch._

“The plan?” Tom questioned, scratching his head. He frowned. “Y’know, I’m awful at plans.”

_Scratch._

“We need a plan to get out of here, and maybe beat up the masked man along the way,” Pyro said firmly. “Charlie’s going to be worried sick about me, and I don’t want him doing anything stupid.”

_Scratch._

“Dream.” Tom paused. “The masked man’s name is Dream.”

_Scratch._

“Would you stop that?!” Pyro snapped, turning around to stare daggers at Connor, who was sharpening his sword on the opposite side of the cave. “It’s infuriating.”

“Nobody invited me to the meeting!” Connor protested, his upper and lower sets of eyes narrowing while his middle set widened.

Tom huffed a sigh. “We’re three gods-damned feet away from you, Connor, you don’t have to be invited to jack,” he groaned. “Get over here and stop whining.”

Connor shuffled over to their side of the cave and sat down cross-legged on the floor. “So, what are you guys talking about?”

Seto and Pyro sighed in unison, and Tom glanced between them with a look of sly amusement. “We’re discussing the plan!” he then exclaimed. “The plan that doesn’t exist yet. The plan in which us four randos go up against Dream and his team. The plan in which we definitely win.”

“If you’re not confident, just say so,” Pyro said. “Then we can get it out of the way and actually start working on the plan without you moaning about it in the background.” Pyro rolled his eyes. Tensions were running high, to say the least. Being trapped in a cave with an old wizard, flirtatious vampire, and permanently annoyed spider demon (who seemed to be bothered by something but never explained what) got old fast.

“I’m awfully good at-” Tom started, a wry smirk on his face.

Pyro interrupted quickly, “Don’t finish that sentence.”

Tom pouted dramatically and turned away. “Nobody here appreciates a good joke,” he grumbled.

“Anyway,” Seto said sharply, “we need a way out of these tunnels. Tom, where’s the closest exit?”

Tom didn’t reply immediately - instead, he reached inside his coat and retrieved a rolled-up piece of parchment. Tom spread it out on the floor in front of them, letting it unroll to reveal what looked like a half-finished map. “This is what I have noted of the tunnels so far,” he explained. The vampire paused for a moment, before tapping a square near the edge of the map with his index finger. “The cave we’re in right now is here.” Then he tapped another square closer to the middle. “This is where I came in - it’s the only unblocked way in and out inside the city walls that I know of. It was in someone’s basement, believe it or not. When it was reported to Jordan, he immediately bought the apartment and one of our friends volunteered to live there and watch over it… which is what kick-started this whole tunnel-mapping thing in the first place.” 

Pyro shifted forward to get a better look at the map, making a noise of acknowledgement.

Tom paused, glancing over at Pyro, then tapped a few other squares indicated around the original square. “These all used to be ways to access the tunnels, also from inside the city, but they’re all blocked off by rubble and other… dangerous things,” Tom said. “And it’s a good thing, too. One of them comes up right in the destroyed part of the castle - the bit that was built over and hasn’t been cleaned up yet. If it was unblocked, anybody who could find their way through the tunnels - which admittedly isn’t very hard if you’ve got an eye for small landmarks and can map your way out - could end up inside the castle without anybody noticing. Luckily, that one’s completely drowned in rubble from the Great Burning. Looked like part of the castle had actually collapsed into it when I was checking it out.”

“So, why can’t we just head out the way you came in?” Pyro asked, resting his chin on his hand.

“Dream and his cronies have set up camp somewhere between here and there,” Tom replied. “I don’t know how many of them there are - it seems like there are more every time I run into them, or they’re different - and I don’t know exactly where their base is… just that every time I go back that way I end up getting pinned down and almost killed by that masked nutcase and his posse.”

“Could we sneak by them?” Connor inquired, blinking a few of his eyes. “Like, if we figured out where they were, could you connect us with other tunnels that would take us around?”

“Maybe.” Tom’s expression scrunched into a pinched frown. “I think our best bet is trying to find one of the holes that leads out into the forest that surrounds the city. I haven’t… I haven’t _found_ any yet, but there has to be at least one - Dream didn’t get down here from inside Irys, that’s for sure, because he arrived after I did and Karl definitely didn’t let him down here.”

“Wait,” Pyro started, drawing the group’s attention. “Seto and I were kidnapped by the ma- _Dream,_ and Tom came down through the open Irys tunnel… Connor, how did you get down here?” He narrowed his eyes at the spider demon, both curious and suspicious.

Connor folded his insectoid leg-like appendages around himself in a sort of self-hug. “I climbed,” he answered after a beat. “Out of Hell, like heroes did in the legends. I punched a few holes in the ceiling… ground… the barrier of obsidian and bedrock and stuff that separates Hell from the other kingdoms. I ended up breaking into here, and the rest is history.”

“That’s impossible,” Seto objected. “Even demons aren’t supposed to be able to survive that. That’s why the portals exist! Hell is so far underground, and there are so many unimaginable monsters in the darkness between here and there.”

“I can imagine them,” Connor said. “Almost got eaten by a few of them. The three-headed sabre-toothed scorpion-tiger-ant was my favourite, at least with that one you could hear when it was coming.”

“You’re not supposed to be alive,” Seto reiterated.

“Heard that one before,” Connor replied. “Look, I don’t know how I survived the climb. For the record, I don’t know how I survived being thrown into a pit of lava either, because that was supposed to kill me as well. All I know is that I woke up after the lava incident looking like this,” Connor lifted his arms, where his skin was reminiscent of rock interlaced with magma, “and when I got back home, Ty told me that I had to flee. Then I was on the run for a while and I knew I was going to get caught, so it was either turn myself in and be killed properly, or risk the climb. So I did it.” Connor poked at the ground. “Anyway, the point is, unless you want to fall into Hell and die, I don’t have a way out for you guys.”

There was a short lull in the conversation, in which nobody said a word. Pyro stared at Connor awkwardly, sensing that there was a lot more to the spider demon’s backstory than he was telling. And from what Pyro had heard about demons, lava was supposed to be one of the only ways of killing them… so how _was_ Connor alive?

Seto coughed loudly. “So,” he started, slapping his hands against his legs. “We have to go looking for a way out?” He glanced between Tom and Pyro.

Tom nodded. “And I know exactly where to start.”

* * *

Charlie was pacing in the hallway, his hands folded behind his back. He hadn’t been able to stomach Jay’s broken ankle, so Poki had sent him out into the corridor to wait with Tubbo, who was using this whole ordeal as an excuse to stay inside and be out of the rain.

“Do you want to sit down…?” Tubbo asked, patting the back of the chair next to him.

Charlie shook his head fiercely, feeling the medal Noah had given him bounce against his chest. “I just… ugh, gods damn it all,” Charlie swore under his breath. “I’m having a really screwed up week, Tubbo.”

“I think everyone’s having a really screwed-up week,” Tubbo replied. “What with the assassination attempts hanging over everyone’s heads.”

Charlie stopped and stared at Tubbo. He hadn’t been expecting that to come from a, what, fifteen-year-old? “The… right, yeah, the assassination attempts,” Charlie repeated. He’d kind of forgotten about those. “Do you know much about what’s going on?” Then, despite having just refused, Charlie took the seat next to Tubbo.

“Well, I’m just a stablehand, but I hear things,” Tubbo said gingerly. “King Jordan likes his horses, y’know. He’s got his own private stable hidden underneath the castle. He doesn’t let anybody else down there - insists on tending to them all himself. Brings them out for rides all the time, though, or at least he used to before this whole rebellion business. So I’ve spoken to the king a few times. I think he likes me better than the other stablehands. Even let me saddle his warhorse, Hermod, one time. He really just likes to talk about his horses, honestly - his majesty could go on about them for hours, and if you need any advice about buying a horse, he’s your man.”

“What does this have to do with-” Charlie started, before Tubbo shushed him.

“Two days after the first proper attempt on his majesty’s life,” Tubbo continued, “he came down to the stables with one of his horses, Andor. I’d never seen this horse before, mind you, and his majesty was _super_ overprotective of him. But he told me he wanted to introduce me to Andor ‘just in case’. Seemed really nervous.” Tubbo paused and lowered his voice. “His majesty’s shaken by all this, I can tell. He’s trying to keep morale up, but… I don’t know, I have a terrible feeling that everything’s going to go to hell soon.”

Charlie blinked. “Why are you telling me this, Tubbo?”

“Because I feel like I can trust you,” Tubbo replied matter-of-factly. “You don’t particularly like Jay, by the way you talk about and look at him, but you brought him here in the middle of a storm so that he could get the best care possible.” Tubbo paused. “I trust that kind of person.”

“Oh.” Charlie wasn’t sure what else to say to that. “Um, thanks?”

“You’re welcome,” Tubbo chirped. “Want to take a walk around the castle? I know my way around, and as long as we stay on the lower floors we won’t get arrested. Even with the assassination attempts, King Jordan still wants the castle to be accessible to civilians.” Tubbo glanced between Charlie and the door that Jay and Poki were behind. “Otherwise you wouldn’t’ve been able to get in here with him.”

“Y’know what? Sure,” Charlie replied. “Might as well, ‘cause I can’t leave yet.” Charlie paused, reaching under his cloak to touch Noah’s war medal. “And besides… there’s something I have to give to someone.”

“Who?” Tubbo asked. “Might be able to help you find him.”

Charlie still didn’t fully trust Tubbo, mostly because of the rocky circumstances he’d been put in over the last week or so, but he figured it couldn’t hurt. It was just a medal - nothing super important or top-secret. “Guy named Travis. I think he’s a knight? I have something to give him from his brother.”

“I didn’t know Sir Travis had a brother,” Tubbo commented, standing up.

“I don’t think many people do,” Charlie admitted. “I get the feeling that they don’t like each other very much.”

Tubbo hummed. “That’s a shame. Sir Travis is a great guy. What do you want to give him?” he inquired.

Charlie unpinned the medal from his tunic and held it out. “Noah - that’s Travis’ brother - won this during the war. I… there’s a bit more to it, but I think Noah is hoping it helps reconcile things between them. Remind Travis that Noah’s not just a deserter.”

“Sir Travis’ brother is a _deserter?”_ Tubbo huffed. “That would explain why they don’t talk to each other.”

“And that’s why I need to give this medal to Sir Travis,” Charlie said. “Uh, to be honest, Noah just said to give it to his brother if I happened to see him, but since we’re just waiting around here…”

Tubbo nodded. “Sir Travis was at the tournament this morning - and so was I, actually. I came back for lunch. Sir Travis is supposed to be here taking over from Sir Alexander as the member of the Crownguard watching over the castle.” Tubbo grabbed Charlie’s arm and hauled him up. “So that means that Sir Travis should be in the castle somewhere!”

“...How big is this place, exactly?” Charlie asked, sounding less than eager.

Tubbo grinned. “And that’s why we should get started right away.”

* * *

Connor was overly conscious of every sound his feet made on the stone as the four made their way through the tunnels. They’d elected to all go together - leaving someone behind to guard their secret cave didn’t make much sense.

He sighed. Connor knew he was being a bit of a jerk towards the others. But they weren’t entitled to his entire life story just because they were stuck in these caves together. Especially when Connor was still dealing with it all himself. The fall, then the escape… all the while knowing that his best friend Schlatt had most definitely been murdered by Queen Ryjinah while attempting to flee Hell, all for a human boy named Carson. Who was probably dead as well.

Connor deflated slightly. He’d tried to give his life to save Schlatt and Carson. He really had. Instead, he’d managed to be the luckiest demon in centuries, when he didn’t want to be. Maybe that was the curse’s cruel irony. It would strike only when the demon in question intended to die.

_That which destroys a demon will sometimes make it stronger._ Connor remembered being taught about it in school, when he was just a few hundred years old, and his teacher had called those demons so fortunate to survive a lava bath monsters and condemned them to the deepest pits of Hell. Connor had been scared so thoroughly by this lesson that he’d never managed to forget it. And now he was kind of glad.

Every demon recorded to have absorbed the power of lava went mad. That was why they were monsters, that was why they were hunted down and imprisoned, that was why Connor was trying to push these strangers away. Because Connor didn’t want to become one of the animalistic night terrors that Queen Ryjinah kept locked up in her basement.

Part of him wondered if all those demons were already mad when they were hurtled into lava. There were only five of them in the history books, after all, so perhaps it was some wild coincidence. Or maybe they were imprisoned first, then went mad because of the solitary confinement. Connor would never know. If he did go mad, well, he wouldn’t exactly be sane enough to consider ‘oh, no, I was wrong, it _is_ the lava that makes demons go mad’. Wasn’t that a happy thought.

“Connor?” a voice broke into Connor’s thoughts. Tom put a hand on Connor’s shoulder and repeated, “Connor? There’s someone up ahead.”

“...someone?” Connor mumbled, looking up. The group had stopped walking and were all looking rather uneasy. “Who?”

“I don’t know. I can hear him, though,” Tom said. “I’m going to go up to the corner and take a look. You want to come?”

Connor appreciated Tom. They barely knew each other, but Connor knew Tom better than the other two at this point, and Tom’s father was a demon. Tom always listened, well, relatively quietly when Connor told him about Hell, and seemed enthusiastic about everything Connor threw his way. And, for that matter, made an effort to include Connor even when Connor was in a mood.

Tom blinked at him and Connor realized that he’d forgotten to answer the question. Connor nodded. “I’ll come.”

“Wizards, stay here and make sure the tunnel doesn’t collapse on our heads,” Tom directed.

Pyro looked as if he were going to say something, but Seto slapped his hand over Pyro’s mouth and Pyro was forced to grumble something inaudible.

“Right, let’s go,” Tom declared, gingerly picking the torch from Pyro’s hands. Connor’s six eyes followed the flickering light as Tom started down the tunnel, and Connor went after him. Once they were (somewhat) out of earshot, Tom turned to Connor and said, “I wanted you because you’re the quietest. Pyro and Seto are trying their best, but they’re like elephants wandering down here in comparison to you and me.”

“Demon feet,” Connor commented quietly.

“Demon feet,” Tom agreed. They continued to walk in silence for a moment, before Tom started to giggle.

“Shut up!” Connor whispered, lightly whacking Tom on the arm. “I thought we were trying to be quiet!”

“Demon feet is really effing funny,” Tom protested. “You could have- you could have said it _any_ other way, and instead you went with _demon feet.”_

Connor was about to give Tom a very strongly-worded rebuke when they reached the corner and Connor suddenly heard the shuffling of a figure nearby. “Hide!” he hissed, slamming Tom sideways into the wall and causing the torch to fall to the ground with a great clatter.

Tom and Connor both froze in the dimming torchlight, Connor’s hands tangled in Tom’s coat and still pressing him against the wall. Connor heard slow footsteps advancing towards them and a dark shape rounded the corner. Connor held his breath and watched as a gloved hand reached down to pick the torch off the floor, lifting it to eye level and casting light upon a hooded figure.

The stranger reached up to pull back his hood, revealing a pale face with neatly-combed brown hair and glasses. In the torchlight, the glasses were so reflective that they made the stranger’s eyes appear to be pure white.

In the middle of the tense encounter, Connor let go of Tom’s coat and Tom slumped down against the wall slightly, letting out a long breath.

The stranger looked between them with a scrutinizing expression. Then he spoke, and the pitch of his voice took Connor by surprise, as well as the words he used.

“Okay, who are you muffinheads and what are you doing in these tunnels?” the stranger demanded. “Also, uh,” he glanced between Connor and Tom again, “what in the world is going on here?”

“Nothing,” Connor and Tom answered in unison.

The stranger just narrowed his eyes.

Connor bit his lip. “We’re looking for a way out of the tunnels,” he said. “To the outside of the city.”

The stranger continued to regard them for a few moments, before saying, “Well, you two are in luck.” He stuck out his hand to shake, and Connor took it, then Tom, each giving the stranger a firm shake. “I’m Darryl, but everybody calls me Bad. Because I’m so tough and scary, see?” Bad pulled a face that Connor thought was supposed to be scary, but looked more like Bad was trying to swallow a frog.

“I’m Tom, and this is Connor,” Tom said. “There are two others waiting behind.” He gestured back towards where Pyro and Seto were.

Connor took a step forward. “Can you lead us out of the tunnels?” he asked eagerly.

Bad smiled. “Get your friends and let’s go, gentlemen.”

* * *

“Are you sure that he’s around here, Tubbo?” Charlie asked, trying not to sound annoyed. It felt like they’d been wandering around the identical corridors for hours, though Charlie knew it had only been half an hour maximum.

“If he’s not, then he’s neglecting his duties and I’ll turn him in,” Tubbo replied haughtily.

Charlie stared at him for a second, unsure if Tubbo was serious. “Okay then,” Charlie said. “Glad we’ve got that settled.”

Tubbo was quiet for a moment. “Let’s go up to the top of the castle walls,” he then declared. “There are so many guards up there that they don’t really care if civilians poke around to see the view. Plus, we could ask a few of them if they’ve seen Sir Travis.”

Charlie blinked, then nodded. “Alright. Lead the way, Tubbo.”

Tubbo dashed off down the corridor and around the corner, surprising Charlie and making him run to keep up. Tubbo made a beeline for a steep spiral staircase set into the wall and started to climb. By the time they reached the top, Charlie was out of breath and his legs were aching.

“Great gods,” Charlie huffed. “Do you do that regularly?” His question was directed at Tubbo, who was peering out over a nearby parapet and seemed completely unbothered by the climb.

“Sometimes!” Tubbo answered. “I like the view from up here.” He looked over as Charlie came to join him. “You can see all of Irys.”

Charlie rested his hands on the smooth-cut stone and leaned out to peer over the city. The rain was still coming down, but not as violently, and though it made Irys seem dark and dreary, there was a certain charm to it as well. People were starting to emerge from their houses, where they had been seeking shelter, and the puddles on the streets gave the illusion that there were little patches of sky inlaid in the ground. The sounds of horses and carriage wheels and people calling out to each other were prevalent, breathing life into the rows of wooden houses and cobblestone streets. And beyond the high walls that served as protection from the outside, a sea of lush green grass and tall, strong trees was present, waving slightly in the wind. Charlie was inclined to call the sight ‘beautiful’.

“Yeah, most people have that reaction when they see it for the first time,” Tubbo commented, snickering as Charlie continued to stare at the city. “We’re supposed to be looking for Sir Travis, aren’t we?”

“Gimme a sec,” Charlie murmured. “It’s…”

“...amazing?” Tubbo finished with a smile. “I thought you were in a hurry or something.”

“I… yeah, let’s go find Sir Travis,” Charlie said, taking a step back from the edge. He took one last long look over the city and turned to Tubbo. “Do we just walk up to one of these guys,” he gestured to the many yellow-cloaked knights standing along the castle wall, “and ask to see Sir Travis?”

“Yep!” Tubbo replied.

As Tubbo started to march up to one of the Cityguard knights, Charlie jogged after him and caught him by the elbow. “Wait, wait, Tubbo, hang on, think about this for a second,” he pleaded, surprised by his own desperation. “You’re just going to walk up to a knight and ask-”

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do,” Tubbo interrupted, shifting his arm out of Charlie’s grip. “You just stand back and watch, Charlie.” He flashed Charlie a reassuring smile.

Charlie did exactly that, moving back as Tubbo strode confidently up to one of the yellow-cloaked knights.

“Excuse me, sir!” Tubbo called loudly. The knight looked down at him with a blank expression. “My friend here is looking for Sir Travis. He was supposed to be back this afternoon.”

Before the knight could respond, a voice came from behind Charlie, making him jump. “You’re looking for me?” it said, sounding surprised.

Charlie whirled around and came face-to-face with who he could only assume was Sir Travis. His suspicion was confirmed when Tubbo exclaimed, “Sir Travis!”

Sir Travis looked significantly more awkward than Charlie had expected a knight to look as the two boys both stared at him. Tubbo raced up to stand beside Charlie, bouncing on his feet.

“Uh… why are you looking for me?” Sir Travis asked, reaching up to scratch the back of his head.

Charlie fumbled to unpin the medal from his tunic again. “I have something for you from your brother,” he explained.

Sir Travis stiffened. “I don’t have a brother,” he insisted.

“Yes, you do, and his name is Noah Greypoint,” Charlie said, turning his palm face-up and revealing the copper medal. “He won this during the war, when he was a general. He wanted me to give it to you. I’m not sure exactly why.”

The knight gingerly took the medal and turned it over in his hands. “I recognize this,” Sir Travis murmured. “I told Noah he didn’t deserve this after he deserted the army. I ripped it off of his armour and threw it into the mud.” He closed his fist around it. “I wonder if this means he’s forgiven me.”

“Have you forgiven him?” Charlie prompted. “For deserting, I mean.”

Sir Travis was momentarily immobile, then nodded slowly. “There’s been bad blood between us for too long.”

“How long?” Tubbo asked curiously.

“Almost twenty years,” the knight answered with a sigh. “You, um…” Sir Travis gestured at Charlie.

“Charlie, sir.” Charlie folded his hands behind his back and attempted to stand up straighter.

Sir Travis slipped the medal into one of the pouches on his belt. “Charlie, I want you to tell Noah that I forgive him and want to see him again.” He paused. “Do you, um, know where I could find him?”

“He’s in town right now,” Charlie told Sir Travis. “I’ll let him know, and then he’ll probably find you.”

Sir Travis’ expression was passive as he glanced up at the sky, then back down at the two boys. “Thank you,” he said. Then he was quiet for a moment. “You two might want to run along in case the rain picks up again.”

“Will do,” Tubbo replied, grabbing Charlie by the arm. “Have an uneventful afternoon, sir!”

Sir Travis laughed. “Gods, that would be nice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter so soon? And it's a long one? Oh my gosh, what is HAPPENING?!  
> Basically, we're approaching a very exciting scene and I really want to get there soon, so FULL STEAM AHEAD! Going to be focusing on updating Golden for a wee while so that we can get there :D


	39. I Have Been Waiting To Write This Scene For Nearly A Year Please Like It

Carson grabbed Wilbur by the arm and dragged him away from Phil and Tommy, making Wilbur cry out in protest, but the knight’s expression was stony and fierce. “We need to talk,” he said, leading Wilbur over to the least crowded area of the jousting fields. Wilbur could see Schlatt waiting there as well. “Things need to hurry up. Minx could strike at any moment, and we know she’s at  _ least _ trying to kill me-”

“I think she’s trying to kill the king as well,” Wilbur interjected. “I also believe that Sir Callum Redwing is our man- er, woman.” Before Carson could reply, Wilbur went on. “Ted told me ages ago that he knew a Sir Callum Redwing who was actually a woman, and that she was supposed to have died in the war. Now this knight’s turned up at the tournament, and I haven’t seen them remove their helmet. Coincidence?” He ended his statement with a pointed look over at Carson.

Carson hummed thoughtfully. “You’ve got a point. Well done.” The knight paused.  _ “Ted _ told you? My horse?” When Wilbur nodded, Carson continued, “Huh, I kind of forgot that you can do that. Speak to animals, I mean.” He huffed. “Maybe we should include Ted in our meetings as well.” Wilbur knew he was mostly joking, but Wilbur wouldn’t be opposed to the idea. It would be annoying to translate, though.

“Yeah.” Wilbur scratched the back of his head, cringing at the vague answer. His mind was elsewhere; something had been bothering him recently. “Carson, I… there’s been something I’ve been meaning to say.” He glanced over at Schlatt, who had been waiting for them and was now gathered with them.

“Fire it at me,” Carson replied, eyebrows raised.

Wilbur hesitated, wringing his hands together. “Are you… are you sure I should be here?” he asked quietly, avoiding Carson’s gaze.

Carson and Schlatt’s synchronized vocal objection was instantaneous.

“I just...” Wilbur held up his hands to quiet them down, “...I know I’m being helpful and all, but I’m just some kid from a small town that happens to have a bit of magic. You guys could have done this all by yourselves. I’m nervous talking to new people because I don’t know if they’re going to end up trying to  _ kill _ me. Gods, I’ve been attacked once already! And you guys just kind of abandoned me to do things on my own - Minx could have murdered me in Antvenom’s office and you wouldn’t have even noticed!” Wilbur hadn’t even realized how angry he was until he had started to speak. He finished, chest heaving, and stared at Carson and Schlatt, waiting for their reaction.

To Wilbur’s surprise, it was Schlatt who spoke first. “Wilbur,” he started. “Carson and I aren’t perfect. And we  _ couldn’t _ have done this all ourselves. You’re the one who healed Sir Adam, and befriended Phil and Tommy, and went into Antvenom’s office undetected. Even if you didn’t bring back the letter, you still confirmed that we were heading in the right direction.” Schlatt stepped forward to place one paw on Wilbur’s shoulder. “We might not know you as well as we know each other, and you might be young, but you’re one of us now. And we won’t disappear on you again.”

“All three of us will go after Minx,” Carson promised. “As a team.” He reached over to place his hand on Wilbur’s other shoulder.

At a loss for words, Wilbur blinked a few times. “Um… thanks,” he said. There was a short pause, wherein Schlatt and Carson moved back and looked at him expectantly. “We should pool all of our knowledge so that we can figure this out, don’t you think?” Wilbur reached into his jacket and retrieved his notebook. “Carson-?”

“Can I see what you’ve got so far?” Carson asked, extending his hand. Wilbur passed him the notebook and Carson murmured a thank-you. “Schlatt, tell him what you’ve got in the meantime.” He waved his hand vaguely.

“I’ve been looking into all of the chaos that’s been going on recently,” Schlatt said. “The thieveries, the fires… anything that was attributed to Technoblade but feels off, somehow. And from what I’ve found - we need that letter, Wilbur.” Schlatt looked directly at Wilbur. “Can you remember  _ anything _ about the names in it?”

“One of them started with a J and the other with a K,” Wilbur answered. “Or an F. I can’t remember. I wasn’t able to look at it for very long.” He scratched the back of his head.

“Sir Jacob Andrews has been among the frontrunners causing trouble, as well as an unidentified woman working for the White Rose. At least, there’s suspicion that it’s Sir Jacob - nobody can pin anything on him, it seems like he’s mostly doing distractions and causing ‘accidents’. His partner in crime is most likely Karina Farek, but again, nobody can prove anything,” Schlatt explained. “So if that letter has  _ names…” _

“They can be at least taken in for questioning,” Wilbur finished, as realization dawned on him. “Gods, I wish I hadn’t lost it-” He cursed under his breath.

“You didn’t lose it,” Carson interjected. “We just need to get it back.” With that, Carson glanced over his shoulder at the jousting fields. “The afternoon’s been a bit restructured because of the rain, but it looks like things are going ahead now. We should go.” He jerked his head to punctuate his last sentence.

“Shouldn’t we come up with a plan?” Wilbur asked, taking a step after him as Carson turned away.

“I’ve got a plan,” Carson assured him. “I’ve always got a plan.”

* * *

Carson’s not-hand was throbbing, as it often did when he was stressed or it was particularly inconvenient. Phil was sitting on one side of him and Schlatt on the other, then Wilbur and Tommy were seated on the other side of Phil. Everybody was talking except Carson - he was leaned forward with his arms crossed on the wooden barrier that separated the spectators from the jousting knights. And he was looking for Minx.

Carson hadn’t thought about Minx - or May, as her real name was - in years. They hadn’t known each other for very long, but in that week when Carson was fifteen, Minx had attempted to kill him and he had knocked her off a cliff. It was a long story, and Carson wasn’t sure how best to tell it.

The facts were like this: Minx had been hired to rob a Windwing caravan and Carson had overheard the deal being made in a tavern. He had insisted on coming with her and had threatened to turn her in if she didn’t agree. They had set off, with Ted and Austin, and Carson had known she wanted to get rid of him from the get-go. Borderline blackmail was not a great way to make friends. But it wasn’t until the actual robbery happened that things had become serious. Carson had been supposed to distract the Windwings while Minx stole whatever it was they had been after out of the carriage, but Carson had failed and Minx had been caught. And Carson had left her there. That night, Carson had been heading back down the mountain when Minx had confronted him, having escaped the Windwings, and accused him of leaving her there to die. Carson hadn’t meant to hurt her, but… what happened happened, and Carson had thought it was all over. Clearly, he had been wrong. And Minx wanted revenge.

Carson thought it was all a huge overreaction. He’d been a kid at the time and trying to kill Minx was completely unintentional. Yes, he had left her behind and she had a right to be mad about that, but he had also been a  _ child. _ If he had tried to take on all six Windwings by himself, he would have been killed. If he thought it would help the situation, Carson was perfectly willing to apologize, but someone who spent years seeking revenge on someone who had been just a kid at the time probably wasn’t someone Carson could reason with.

A cheer went up from the crowd as two knights took to the field. On the left side was a tall knight in iron armour with a slight copper tint in some places, and one pauldron was styled into the image of a crow. Her shield had a flock of identical black birds on a grey sky with crimson clouds, and even the visor of her helmet paid homage to a bird’s beak. That was Kara Corvus, former member of the elite Krimson Krakens during the war and a knight held in high favour by the king. One of the first female knights to be officially recognized as such, as well.

On the right side, facing her as her opponent, was a slender knight who was only just mounting his horse, helmet still tucked underneath his arm. He had neat brown hair and even from the front of the stands, Carson could make out nasty scars encroaching on the side of his face from his neck. They were ragged scars that looked as if they’d been made with claws, and Carson had a suspicion he knew what they were from. That was Tucker Jericho, whom many anticipated would be appointed to the Crownguard in Joko’s stead. He was an old friend of the king’s from childhood, from what Carson had heard… and a werewolf. It was only during King Jordan’s reign that werewolves and other demonborn, such as vampires and harpies, had been allowed to serve as knights at all, and now to have one on the verge of being added to the Crownguard was groundbreaking. But then again, his lycanthropy was the major qualm most people had with his candidacy as well. Carson didn’t see it as an issue - Tucker was as noble and loyal as any knight - but there were plenty of concerns, mostly stemming from the prejudices that caused the laws to be enacted in the first place, hundreds of years ago. Carson sighed.

“Sir Kara Corvus and Sir William Tucker Jericho!” Sir Alexander introduced in a loud voice, standing in front of the Crown’s stand. He lifted his hand, drawing the attention of the crowd, then dropped it to signal the start of the joust. “Ride!”

The clashing of lances and shields rang out through the open air, and Carson watched the joust half-heartedly. He was afraid of anybody else getting involved and hurt by his and Minx’s petty feud. Wilbur had already been attacked by her once. And she was after the king and his associates, too.  _ Gods damn it. _ Carson wished it could all just be simple.

“Carson,” Phil started, getting Carson’s attention. Carson looked over at the other knight, who was looking at him curiously. “Do you think the king will appoint Sir Tucker to the Crownguard?” He made a deliberate cough. “Despite the… you know.”

“He’s got demon blood, not a gods-damned disease,” Carson shot back, slight annoyance throbbing in the back of his skull. Lycanthropy wasn’t even transmitted through bites; it was hereditary. And yet everybody thought it was contagious anyway.

“You would think that, wouldn’t you?” Phil commented under his breath, with a pointed glance at Schlatt. Carson bristled but knew it probably wasn’t worth the fight.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Schlatt growled from Carson’s other side. Carson put out a hand to encourage Schlatt to back off.

“He’s a werewolf, Carson. That’s a high risk factor,” Phil pointed out. “And all I meant was that you’re not exactly the most conservative when it comes to demonborn rights, for obvious reasons.” Phil nodded in Schlatt’s direction.

“Everything’s a high risk factor when people are trying to kill you,” Carson countered. “King Jordan needs people he can trust. Sir Tucker’s been his friend since Isaac III was king. He’s a respectable knight, why does his being a werewolf have  _ anything _ to do with how fit he would be for the position?”

“You might be right,” Phil hummed. Then he went on in a quieter voice. “I still don’t know how much I trust a man who could transform into a feral beast at any moment to protect our king, but…”

“If Sir Tucker was going to eat King Jordan he would have done it already, don’t you think?” Carson replied, a bit more forcefully than he intended. “Werewolves aren’t monsters. They’re still fully in control when they transform. There was one pack of cannibals a few hundred years ago and that’s where all that stigma stems from. It’s unfair, illogical, and-”

“Okay, okay.” Phil held up his hands as a gesture of surrender.

But Carson wasn’t finished. “If anything, you should be  _ glad _ that Sir Tucker is likely to be appointed to the Crownguard. Can you imagine trying to assassinate someone who’s being protected by a superhuman wolf? Technoblade will be quivering in his boots if Sir Tucker is appointed,” he said.

“Well said,” Schlatt grunted, still glaring at Phil. “Phil, Tucker is more likely to eat the entire town of Westport than King Jordan.” Dull flames flickered in Schlatt’s eyes and Carson took that as a reassurance that the demon wasn’t too enraged by Phil’s comments.

“I get it,” Phil replied. “If Sir Tucker is appointed, I’ll support him just as I’d support anybody else.” He paused for a moment. “Sorry if I offended either of you.”

Carson looked over at Schlatt, letting him take it, because if anybody had the right to be offended, it was Schlatt. But Schlatt just huffed and said, “Apology accepted.”

It seemed as if Tommy and Wilbur had been not-so-subtly eavesdropping on the conversation because when Carson looked over at them, they were both staring very quietly and intently at the joust - even Tommy, who Carson was sure he would never in a million years see sit still unless up to something devious. Carson narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but didn’t confront them. It was good for them to know.

A loud snap rang through the air and Carson was drawn back to the joust, where Tucker had just broken his lance against Kara’s shield. Carson didn’t know how many passes were left, but with the eruption the crowd gave as the horses slowed, Carson assumed that had been the final one.

“Sir Tucker wins!” Sir Alexander declared, walking over to where the victorious knight had just dismounted from his horse and lifting Tucker’s arm into the air. A cheer went up from the crowd and Tucker waited a moment before, to Carson’s surprise, he pulled his arm out of Alexander’s grip and walked over to Kara. They shook hands and exchanged courteous smiles and words that Carson couldn’t lip-read.

Alexander let the crowd settle as Kara and Tucker departed from the jousting field. Then, he stood up on his box again and raised his hands to ask for silence. Carson had a suspicion that he knew what this was going to be about and he wasn’t looking forward to it… though it was what had to be done to bait Minx into exposing herself. He didn’t like going behind his friends’ backs, but Carson knew they never would have agreed to it.

“There has been a last-minute change in the matchups,” Alexander proclaimed. “Sir Callum Redwing will be facing off against Sir Carson King in the next joust.” There was a rumble from the crowd, but it was nothing compared to Wilbur’s cry.

“Carson!” Wilbur looked as if he were ready to climb over Phil to confront Carson. “Did you know about this?” He was stunned, with wide eyes and his mouth slightly agape. There was also a hint of anger in his gaze.

“No,” Carson lied. “But we can use it to our advantage, can’t we?” He raised one eyebrow hopefully and hoped that Wilbur didn’t realize that he had arranged this.

“Carson, she...” Wilbur glanced between Tommy and Phil and Carson could tell he was picking his words carefully, “...you know what her deal is, if you- she’s going to- Carson, you can’t joust against her.”

As Carson stood up, he leaned around Phil to pat Wilbur slightly condescendingly on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, adjusting his armour. “I’ve got everything under control.” And then Carson left the stands, leaving Wilbur and Schlatt behind to take on Minx by himself, as he’d just promised not to do.

_ It’s not like that, _ he tried to convince himself as he started to get ready for the joust. He further tried to reassure himself as Wilbur came to, begrudgingly, assist him, as if that counted for anything. It didn’t. Carson knew he shouldn’t have rearranged the jousts so that he could go against Minx, but they had to get her to slip up somehow. And giving her the perfect opportunity to injure or even kill the man she had a vendetta against was pretty good bait, even if the risk was through the roof.

As Wilbur passed up Carson’s lance, Carson could see the hurt in his eyes.  _ This wasn’t part of the plan, _ whispered the expression etched onto Wilbur’s face. “Wish me luck,” Carson said. Wilbur just shook his head.

“You arranged this,” Wilbur identified quietly, looking up at Carson. There was hope there still that Carson hadn’t been doing things behind his friends’ backs, and Carson felt a rush of regret.

Carson swallowed the lump in his throat and watched Wilbur’s trust in him shatter as he confirmed the statement with a nod of his head.

“Schlatt was right,” Wilbur murmured under his breath, just loud enough for Carson to hear. “I don’t know you.” His gaze flickered up to Carson’s face and then darted away.

“Wilbur…” Carson started, wishing he knew what to say.

Wilbur turned away and loosely folded his arms over his chest. “Go. Do whatever it is you plan to do.” Carson felt an odd rush of pride - at Wilbur’s age, if he’d been in Wilbur’s place, he would have been furious and let him have it. And yet Wilbur recognized there were more important things at stake.

Carson blinked. “I plan to win,” he replied honestly, and spurred Ted away towards the tilt. He told himself he wouldn’t look back, but he did… and Wilbur’s dejected look made him feel horrible. But it was too late. They were just going to have to live with it.

Redwing was waiting at the opposite end, astride a stallion that Wilbur had told him earlier was the same as the one Minx had fled on. Carson was so sure that Redwing  _ must _ be Minx. It lined up so perfectly. And the group would do well from finally being right. Carson didn’t want to think about if they were wrong.

“Take your places!” Alexander directed loudly, drawing both knights’ attention. The head of the Crownguard pushed curly ginger hair out of his face and smiled, and Carson envied his lighthearted attitude. He knew it must be faked, but it didn’t seem that way. Even with regular attempts on his life and the lives of those he was sworn to protect, he appeared positive. Carson wished he knew how Alexander did it.

Carson made sure his shield was tight on his arm and lined up Ted by the wooden fence. Ted’s nostrils flared as the horse let out a snort. Carson sighed - his shield arm was throbbing again. A slow series of blinks to clear his head, then Carson looked over at Alexander, who had raised his hand into the air.

The hand fell. Alexander shouted, “Ride!”

And then the horses charged.

The first pass went by in a thunder of hooves and the snap of a lance - Carson’s - and when Ted slowed down at the opposite end, Carson could feel the adrenaline kick in. Jousting was a fast sport - blink and you’ll miss it - and Carson found that his body never quite realized what was happening until after the first pass. Going into the second one… that was when things started to become a competition.

Redwing’s shield was painted black with the red outline of a bird in flight painted on it. The paint was chipped already from that morning’s joust, especially around the upper corners. The trick… Carson narrowed his eyes. The trick was to hit his opponent in just the right place to unbalance them and knock them off their horse. And Carson could see a distinct mark on Redwing’s shield from when Sir Joko had unseated her that morning.

Carson hefted his lance as Ted turned for the second pass. It was heavy and the mark was higher than he would have liked, but he wouldn’t have to hold it up that high for long. Carson spurred Ted on and the horse picked up speed again, barreling towards his opponent. Carson knew that people had died while jousting, but frankly, he enjoyed the rush too much to worry about it. Though when his opponent was actually trying to kill him… Carson figured maybe he  _ should _ worry about it this time.

Carson’s lance slammed into the spot he’d been aiming at and Redwing was thrown off of her horse, tumbling to the ground and onto her back. Carson squeezed the saddle with his knees, indicating for Ted to slow down, because his one hand was occupied with his lance and he couldn’t exactly grab the reins with a stump. When Ted stopped and Carson turned back, he saw that Redwing’s helmet was laying a few feet away from her. And that the knight’s face was distinctly Minx’s.

Minx swept her hair out of her face and staggered to her feet, with a pointed look in Carson’s direction. The crowd seemed to be watching them with bated breath, and Carson could feel Wilbur’s eyes boring into the back of his skull. Carson didn’t move as Minx retrieved her helmet and pulled it back onto her head. She remounted her horse, waving off a squire that offered to help her, and Carson still didn’t react, trying to pretend that the fact that his hands were shaking and his heart was pounding was just because of the adrenaline, not because this was the first time he’d seen Minx since she’d tried to kill him years earlier. He was slightly relieved, though - their suspicions had been confirmed.

“Sir- ah, Sir Callum?” Alexander ventured, catching Minx’s attention.

“May,” Minx corrected. “But Redwing is fine.” She looked over at Carson. “Let’s keep going; we don’t have all day.”

Alexander nodded, orange curls falling into his face again, and stepped back.

On the third pass, it was Minx who began to claim the upper hand, with her lance splintering against Carson’s shield. Carson reflexively flinched, trying to heft his shield higher to keep any of the splinters from getting into his eyes. This wasn’t the time to be losing the use of another part of his body.

Minx was given a new lance by the stablehand acting as her squire and they lined up for another pass. As the horses started to gain speed, Carson noticed the sunlight glinting off of the end of Minx’s lance unsettlingly, and at the last moment, he dropped his lance and hauled on Ted’s reins, yanking the horse to the side and pulling him and Ted both out of harm’s way.

The crowd murmured dissent as Carson pulled Ted around to face Minx. “Your lance,” Carson pointed out in a loud voice, and now he could see the pointed tip properly. It gleamed dangerously, and Carson realized that she had just tried to kill him in front of everybody. Maybe that was the plan - stab him with a lance, kill the king in the chaos. And now he’d ruined it. Good. “Be careful with that. You might hurt someone.”

Minx threw the lance down and her horse reared up on his hind legs with a loud whinny. She didn’t say a word, but Carson knew she must have been fuming. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting her to do, but spurring her horse towards the city and taking off wasn’t it.

“Stop her!” Carson shouted, and the scene erupted into chaos. He fumbled to release his shield from his arm, then snapped the reins with his other hand. Ted bolted after Minx and Carson leaned down in the saddle, intent on catching and confronting her.

As they passed through the city gates, Carson began to wonder where Minx was going. All of her targets were back at the tournament, and it seemed like she was heading towards the castle, so he didn’t think she was fleeing. There wasn’t anybody she wanted to kill at the castle, so what was she…

_ The king, vice, and the Crownguard are all at the tournament… except for Sir Travis. He wasn’t her main target, but now that Carson had revealed her…  _

Sweat trickled down Carson’s spine and he veered Ted into a side street. He’d grown up in this city as an orphan and he knew the alleys like the back of his hand, so now that he knew where he was going, he intended to beat Minx there. Sir Travis had to be warned.

Carson charged Ted through a pile of crates, ignoring the shouts from bystanders on the side of the road. He couldn’t see Minx on the main road, so he didn’t know how close he was to catching her, and he continued to urge Ted on faster. Never before had Carson been so grateful to be riding an old warhorse.

As they drew closer to the castle the streets began to get more crowded, but Carson didn’t slow down. He could see the drawbridge up ahead and Ted barrelled towards it, with Minx crossing through the square from the other side. Carson flicked the reins and steered Ted into the castle, then pulled him to a halt, blocking the gate and forcing Minx to stop as well.

“Get out of my way!” Minx shouted, accent twisting her words as she spat at him. Her hair fell over the side of her face and she flipped it back with her head.

“So that you can kill an innocent man? No way,” Carson shot back, expression steeled. “Besides, isn’t it me that you want?” 

There was a brief pause. “So you do remember me,” Minx said. “Fat lot of good that’ll do you.” She pulled back on the reins of her horse and the horse reared back, front legs kicking out at Carson and Ted. Carson flinched and Ted took a step back. “I’ll kill him first and then you. So move out of my way or I’ll make you!”

Carson hesitated, then pulled Ted back out of Minx’s way. Ted fought him for a moment as if the horse couldn’t understand what Carson was doing, but Carson continued to yank at the reins until Ted did what he wanted. 

Minx glared at him and raced past into the courtyard, then Carson turned Ted around and followed. “Tubbo!” he called out, looking around for the stablehand he knew must be around somewhere. “Tubbo!?” They’d met a few times, and Carson trusted the kid.

“Here, sir!” Tubbo leapt up from sitting on a barrel, surprising another boy sitting next to him that Carson didn’t recognize.

“That woman,” Carson gestured to Minx, who had dismounted from her horse and was hurrying towards the castle’s main doors, “is going after Sir Travis. I’m going to stop her, but I want you to find Sir Travis before she does, just in case I…” Carson hesitated, “...just find him, Tubbo.”

Tubbo nodded and called back to the other boy, “Come on, Charlie!” Then they both turned and ran towards the closest door leading into the castle.

Carson leapt down from Ted’s back. “Stay here,” he ordered the white stallion, with a glance towards where Minx had disappeared. Ted snorted in reply, to which Carson said, “Don’t give me that. I may not be able to talk to you like Wilbur can, but I’m at least making an effort.”

Ted snorted again and tossed his mane. Carson cursed under his breath. “I don’t have time for this. Just stay put, Ted!” Carson nearly yelled. Then, realizing how stupid it was to be worrying about his horse in this situation, Carson tugged his sword from its scabbard and charged after Minx.

Carson slammed into the great oak doors with his shoulder, forcing them open before him. “Minx!” he bellowed, staggering around the corner after her. His armour was heavy and he wasn’t willing to sacrifice any speed in favour of not nearly falling over whenever he turned a corner.

Minx glanced back at him and changed direction, heading towards the stairs. Carson went after her, taking the stairs two at a time in an effort to close the gap. His lungs began to burn and his legs began to ache as they climbed higher and higher, Minx still just a few steps ahead of him.

When Minx finally exited the stairwell, tossing aside her helmet as she went, Carson was starting to lag behind, and when he burst out onto the roof he was gasping for air. Minx paused to look back at him, as if she was giving him a chance to catch his breath, then took off running again. Carson sighed inwardly (for he couldn’t muster an actual sigh) and picked up the pace, though his entire body screamed in protest.

“S-stop her!” Carson yelled out to the guards standing along the edge of the castle walls as he went by. A few of them looked his way, but Carson knew they wouldn’t be able to react fast enough. Minx was his cross to bear.

Ahead of him, Minx had reached one of the four large towers and stopped to try the door, which appeared to be locked. She glanced at Carson, seeing him drawing closer, and Carson began to have hope that he would be able to corner her. And then she turned back and started to scale the outside of the tower.

“Gods damn it,” Carson growled under his breath, skidding to a halt at the base of the tower. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t climb a tower. Especially not - he glanced up at the quickly darkening sky - when it could start raining at any moment! He only had one hand!

Minx looked down at him and flashed him a taunting smile as she continued to ascend. At the top of the tower was a battlement, Carson knew, and she would be trapped up there. He could wait for someone to come to unlock the tower, or he could settle this now.

Carson threw aside his helmet, letting out a gasp as the cold wind caught his bare skin and sweat-soaked hair. “Fine. Fine,” he muttered to himself. “It’s been too long. Let’s- let’s get this over with.” Carson sheathed his sword, shook out his arms, then reached up and started to climb.

He hauled himself up by his fingers, each stone just barely sticking out enough for him to hold on. Each push upwards was accompanied by a grunt and a rush of adrenaline, especially as he began to get dangerously high. The wind was picking up, too, and Carson could feel it pushing against him and trying to throw him from the side of the tower. Climbing with one hand was difficult, tremendously so, but Carson was determined to make it. He couldn’t hold on with his stump, but he could at least use it to push himself up.

Minx had already reached the top and disappeared, which Carson was glad for. He didn’t want her trying to hinder him as well as the natural obstacles.

A drop of rain splashed onto Carson’s nose and he flinched, nearly letting go of the stones. Carson glanced down, which was a mistake, and fear shot down his spine, lifting the hairs on the back of his neck. New energy filled his body, rejuvenating him, and he began to climb faster, determined to reach the top before the rain came crashing down.

As Carson closed in on the top, Minx’s face appeared again. She shouted something down at him, but it was drowned out by a clap of thunder. Then she held out her hand.

Carson eyed it suspiciously. “Why?” he yelled back, stopping just a few stones from the top as Minx stood in his way.

Minx grinned. “Because I want you to at least catch your breath before I kill you!” she said.

Carson hesitated, then realized that he didn’t have much of a choice. He shifted his weight and heaved himself upward, expecting Minx to let him miss and to soon be falling to his death. Instead, leather caught skin, and Minx hauled Carson over the parapet.

He crumpled onto the stone, breathing heavily. Minx stood over him, casting a shadow across his face. Then she turned and stalked to the other side of the battlement. Carson pulled himself back to lean against the wall and looked up at Minx, who was staring out over the edge.

“Is this where it’s going to end?” Carson murmured over the growing rumble of thunder. “On a tower in the king’s castle, during a storm? Is this where our petty feud will finally be over?”

Minx’s head snapped around to look at him. “Yes,” she answered firmly. “And it’ll end with your death.” In one fluid motion, she drew the rapier from her belt and levelled it at Carson’s face from the opposite side of the battlement.

Carson groaned and heaved himself to his feet. “They saw us come up here. Guards will come to arrest you soon,” he said, drawing his sword and letting it hang by his side.

“I don’t care,” Minx replied. “By that time, you’ll already be dead.” She took a step to the side, advancing on Carson around the edge, and Carson mimicked her movements but in the opposite direction.

“I’ve only got one hand, this isn’t fair,” Carson complained, trying to egg her on. He didn’t want to make the first move. This was Minx’s score to settle. He was just the unfortunate victim.

Minx dashed forward and slashed out with her rapier, the thin blade scoring a scratch across Carson’s left pauldron. Carson flinched and lifted his sword to block her next swipe, which had been aimed at his face, and then took a step forward to make his own attack. Minx dodged him easily, then went on the offensive again, forcing Carson to focus and block her blows, then caught him off-guard by swiping his legs out from underneath him.

Carson crashed to the ground, cursing his heavy armour once again, and rolled away when Minx tried to stab down at him. He scrambled to get back up and move away from the edge, but Minx was standing in the centre of the battlement, forcing him to throw some heavy attacks her way to push her back. He scored one slash across her upper arm, scattering blood droplets across the stone, but they were quickly washed away as the rain began to pour down in droves.

“The letter!” Carson shouted as Minx retreated towards the edge. “The letter you stole from Wilbur - give it to me!” He raised his sword over one shoulder threateningly, stalking towards Minx with ferocity.

“This letter?” Minx asked, retrieving it from one of the pouches on her belt and holding it up. Carson’s eyes widened - the rain would ruin it.

“Yes!” Carson, knowing he didn’t have any other option, dropped his sword and snatched the letter out of Minx’s hand. He quickly tucked it into a pouch on his belt and fastened it shut, hopefully keeping the rain out.

As he went to pick up his sword again, Minx smiled wryly and drew from her belt a second rapier, and she swung both blades down at Carson’s head, narrowly missing him. Carson’s chest heaved and he tried to regain the upper hand, but his one sword combined with his exhaustion couldn’t parry every blow. He ended up blocking one downward strike with the gauntlet on his shield-arm, which sent a jolt of fear through his brain.

Carson had fought fights before, and he’d heard the term ‘dance of death’ before, but this was the first time he’d ever consider using the descriptor. He had two left feet and no concept of rhythm, and Minx clearly knew what she was doing. Carson was a fair fighter in the right circumstance, but duelling on a small tower in the middle of a thunderstorm after sprinting through the castle and climbing up the side of the tower without his shield was not to his advantage. Plus, Minx was older and more experienced than he was. Carson knew he couldn’t win this fight.

Carson staggered back after a particularly rough attack towards his shoulder, and hazarded a glance over the edge. On one side of the tower was the courtyard and certain death, on the other side… 

He loosened his grip on his sword and threw a few more blows, managing to get one to connect with Minx’s side, but then Minx’s blade caught his hand and sent his sword hurtling over the edge, down to the castle walls. Carson knew this was a stupid idea and could easily backfire if she just decided to kill him, but if she really wanted revenge for the cliff incident - well, Carson knew what he would do in her place.

Minx levelled one rapier at his neck and turned the other over in her hand. “Last words?” she prompted.

“You want revenge for me knocking you over that cliff,” Carson started quietly. “Is that why you brought me all the way up here? To do the same to me?” There was a moat, far beneath where he was standing, that would cushion his fall. All he had to do was taunt her into knocking him off.

“Yes,” Minx answered, and for a moment Carson thought he was in luck. Then he felt a fierce pain in his abdomen and he inhaled sharply, not wanting to look down at the blade stabbed through a gap in his armour. “But unlike me, you’ll be dead when you hit the water.” She pulled the rapier back out and Carson doubled over, his chest tight as he tried to breathe. His head spun and he could taste blood in his mouth. “Goodbye, Carson.”

A weight slammed into Carson’s chest and his breath became caught in his throat. For a moment, he teetered on the parapet, then slipped on the wet stone and suddenly he was free falling through the air, vision blurry and pain enveloping his senses. Faintly, he managed the realization that if he was found fast enough, Wilbur could… Wilbur could… if he just…

And then Carson hit the water and everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is not an exaggeration - I've been thinking about this scene since December of 2019. And oh boy am I happy with it.  
> I put so much work into this chapter, feedback is really appreciated!!


	40. Altrive Is Relevant Again + Wow, Connor Is Really Not Vibing

Cooper watched from the balcony as the dark city’s lights flickered and went out - not all at once, but progressively as he continued to stare out at the rows of houses. The rain was still coming down in icy sheets, and though it wasn’t late the rainclouds made it seem as if it were the middle of the night. He curled his fingers over the railing and leaned forward slightly, closing his eyes with a sigh. The rest of the tournament had been cancelled, even though May Redwing had been arrested. Cooper didn’t know if they’d found the body of that knight - Sir Carson - because the Crown was keeping it rather hushed, and May hadn’t been charged with murder yet, so either it hadn’t been fished out of the moat or Sir Carson was still alive. Cooper hoped it was the latter. It would have been a horrible way to go.

“Cooper,” a calm voice called out quietly, and Cooper immediately latched onto it for reassurance. He was shaken - too many things had happened too quickly. “May I join you?” And Caldwell stepped out from the curtains, respectfully hesitant.

Cooper nodded. “Yeah,” he murmured, turning his gaze back to the city. “This is some… some mess, huh?” He snorted and hung his head dejectedly. “Man, Caldwell, I… I don’t know what to do.”

Caldwell was quiet as he moved up to stand beside Cooper, then coaxed Cooper’s head onto his shoulder and put his arm around the green merfolk. “Something else is bothering you,” Caldwell correctly identified. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“It’s a secret,” Cooper said, awkward and ashamed. He felt like a child being asked who his best friend had been talking to after school. “I-I mean, I don’t think you’d want to hear about it-”

“Cooper,” Caldwell said firmly, and Cooper stopped stammering. “What is it?”

Quickly and quietly, Cooper explained everything that had been in the letter Toby had given him. “It opened up a whole new can of worms,” Cooper explained, “and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it.”

Caldwell hummed and moved away, putting his hands on the railing. “I think you should start with that black magic business,” Caldwell said. “See if there’s a way to remove that whole curse, and then go from there.”

“But what about my grandfather? I want to confront him about what he did, but I-” Cooper started, before Caldwell gently cut him off.

“One step at a time, Cooper,” Caldwell said. “I know of some sorcerers that live out in the forest not too far from here. James, I think one of them is, and the other one is Orion or- something to do with stars.” He paused. “Once things are cleared up a bit here, we could go.”

“We?” Cooper questioned.

“Of course, ‘we’,” Caldwell repeated. “I’m too involved to let you two go off on your own again now.” He patted Cooper on the shoulder. “Besides, I’m the one with the horses, _ and _ the one who knows where the wizards are.”

“Oh- right, yeah,” Cooper stammered. “One step at a time.”

“One step at a time,” Caldwell affirmed.

They stood in silence for a few long moments, before a commotion in the courtyard caught their attention. There was the thundering of hooves and some very concerned-sounding yelling, which made Cooper peer over the balcony in curiosity.

“What on earth is going on down there?” Caldwell asked rhetorically, face pinching into an expression of distaste. “Wait a second…” He squinted. “Cooper, the man- boy- on the horse, does he look familiar to you?”

Cooper squinted as well. The man on the horse in the middle of the courtyard was young, with dark hair squashed down by the wind and rain. It was difficult to see, but Cooper could just make out a distinctive dark green jacket with yellow stripes on the sleeves. “Is that-” he started, but he couldn’t finish before Caldwell had grabbed his arm and tugged him towards the door.

“It’s Altrive,” Caldwell said. “Something’s wrong.”

* * *

“Oh, daylight, sweet daylight!” Tom cried, throwing himself down on his knees and looking up at the sun. Connor hung back at the exit of the tunnel with Seto, while Bad and Pyro joined Tom. “I have never been so glad to get out of a stuffy tunnel in my  _ life.” _

“Twenty-five years,” Seto murmured beside Connor. “It’s been twenty-five years since I saw the sun.”

Connor put his arm around Seto. “This is my first time,” he admitted. “In Hell there’s just a rock ceiling. This… gods, it’s beautiful.” Connor looked up at the sky and was forced to blink all of his eyes as the sun blinded him. “Ow, ow, ow, okay, maybe not so beautiful.”

Seto lifted a hand to shade his face. “It isn’t just the brightness that’s bothering me,” he said quietly. “That felt too easy. Even with everything else… we meet up with a stranger, he brings us out of the tunnels, we’re home free. I can’t help thinking it’s a trick.”

“Lighten up, Seto,” Connor replied. “You should be thinking about what you’re going to do now, not moping around. You got friends or family to go back to?” Twenty-five years was nothing to Connor - it took him a moment to remember that relative to a human’s lifespan, that was forever.

Seto hesitated. “I’m ostracized from my family,” he said. “And I… my friends… we were all kids, they’ve probably grown up and gone their separate ways by now. Adam, Mitch, Ty, Jerome, Quentin…” Seto shook his head and sighed. “I’ll try for the capital. We’re pretty close, I think. See if I can make a new life there.”

“I mean, my best friend is probably dead and I know nobody on the surface, so at least you’re better off than that,” Connor joked weakly. “But who knows, Seto, maybe one of your friends is a legendary hero now and has been searching for you since you went missing.”

Seto let out a laugh. “Thanks, but I doubt it.” He looked up, watching Tom and Pyro knock each other into the grass while Bad looked on in semi-horror. “Connor, you haven’t got anybody either. We could go together.”

Connor tipped his head back and smiled thoughtfully. “Yeah. Actually, I’d like that. I don’t know much about you, but you seem alright,” he admitted. “It would be nicer than going about it alone.”

“Spider boy and the old wizard,” Seto commented, to which Connor snickered.

“I’m a lot older than you,  _ buddy,” _ Connor replied lightheartedly. “Demon, remember?” He clapped Seto on the shoulder. “Ready to go back into the sunlight?”

Seto laughed nervously. “I can’t help- I know it’s stupid, but I can’t help worrying that it’s going to burn me,” he said.

Connor caught Seto by the arm. “Hey, I fell into lava. Anything is better than that,” he responded. “It’s just a great ball of fire in the sky created by a goddess whose terrible wrath is known all across the known world. How bad can it be?”

“Okay, okay.” Seto chuckled. “You’ve got a point. A very bad point, but a point nonetheless. Lead the way, lava man.”

Connor tugged Seto out into the sunlight. Warmth spread across Connor’s neck and he dropped his hand from Seto’s arm. It was a different kind of heat from the lava still coursing beneath his stony skin, which was a more violent, burning heat. This was pleasant, though Connor felt a bit uncomfortable in the full blast of the sun.

Connor and Seto made their way over to where Tom, Pyro, and Bad were fooling around beneath a large tree. Bad had pulled back his hood and Tom had flipped his eyepatch to his other eye, revealing a perfectly normal eye that the eyepatch had been covering. Connor wondered why Tom wore the eyepatch if he didn’t need it.

“Ay, welcome to the party!” Tom cried, bounding over to throw his arm around Connor’s shoulders. “It’s always fantastic to leave those tunnels after a while. The sun, the fresh air, the grass…” Tom took a deep breath. “It just  _ smells _ like life, too.”

“Listen, uh, Tom, may I talk to you for a second?” Connor asked, stepping beneath the shadow of the tree and beckoning with his hand for Tom to come with him.

“Yeah.” Tom turned to the others and said, “Give me a moment.” Then he followed Connor until they were out of earshot. “What’s up, Connor?”

“Seto raised a good point just now, while we were talking,” Connor started, folding his hands behind his back. “He says this all feels too easy. A stranger turns up out of nowhere knowing exactly where to go?” He paused. “I’m not sure how much I trust Bad.”

Tom hummed. “I don’t fully trust him either, but…” He cocked his head. “He hasn’t betrayed us yet, Connor. I think it’s fine. I’ll keep an eye out, but I think we’re fine. We’re outside now - we’re in the clear. We can head back to Irys soon and everything will be perfect.” Tom frowned. “Well, uh, not perfect, but good, y’know.”

“Seto and I are planning to get a place together or something,” Connor commented. “But about Bad… I get what you’re saying, Tom, but still, I’m just nervous.”

Tom gently hit him on the arm. “Just be on the alert, then. You’re a demon, Connor, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“But Pyro and Seto aren’t,” Connor pointed out.

Tom pursed his lips. “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s get going, then. Back to Irys we go… the long way around.” He huffed an over-dramatic sigh. “Let’s gather up the boys, Connor.”

Connor and Tom went back to the group, where Bad and Seto were listening intently as Pyro told a very animated story. Connor shifted nervously, a trickle of uneasy slipping down his spine.

“Alright, boys,” Tom said, lifting his hands to quiet them down. He clapped his hands together and added, “We’re going to Irys. I don’t like being out here in the middle of the forest with so many people trying to murder me! So, best to move along before we get jumped.” He pulled on a sarcastic smile. “It’s not far! Follow me, I have an impeccable sense of direction.”

“Good thought,” an unfamiliar voice rang out, “but just a bit too late.” And Dream stepped out from the trees, a loaded crossbow clutched in his hands. Connor heard rustling and looked around to see three others surrounding them--one with large white goggles strapped to his face, another with a loose white headband tied around his forehead, and the third with features resembling a cat’s. All were holding weapons.

“Aw, gods,” Tom groaned.

Connor couldn’t have worded it better himself.

* * *

“Where are you two going?” Toby demanded, stopping them as they were about to rush through the door. “What’s this about?” She looked concerned as well as stern.

“Altrive’s here,” Caldwell answered hurriedly. “He wouldn’t have come himself unless something was seriously wrong. Toby, I…” He trailed off, as if he couldn’t find the right words to express his feelings.

Toby’s expression softened. “You’re worried about your people,” she finished quietly, with a glance at Cooper. When Caldwell nodded, she said, “Well, let’s go, then,” and briskly hauled the door open for them.

“Thanks,” Cooper murmured, with a flash of a smile across his face. “Should we...” he stepped forward and caught Caldwell by the arm, “...should we tell Daniel?”

Caldwell considered for a moment. “Yes,” he answered. “Toby, get Daniel and follow us to the courtyard. Tell him-” Caldwell hesitated. “Just tell him what’s going on.” And then he turned and raced towards the stairs.

Cooper looked at Toby for a moment, then ran after Caldwell. It took a few moments for them to reach the stairs and he could hear Toby calling to Daniel behind them. Caldwell threw open the door to the stairwell and Cooper followed him.

He took the stairs two at a time, intent on not falling behind. Cooper could hear Toby and Daniel enter the stairwell behind him, creating a loud cacophony of footsteps. Caldwell burst through the doors into the courtyard and charged towards the man astride the horse in the centre, who seemed to be having a loud argument with one of the stablehands.

“Altrive!” Caldwell shouted, and Altrive’s head snapped up. He and the stablehand both fell quiet as Caldwell drew closer, Cooper hot on his heels. “What’s going on here?” he demanded, stopping at the shoulder of Altrive’s horse.

“It’s… I…” Altrive stammered, looking frighteningly pale. He cursed, shifting sideways on the saddle as if he were going to dismount, and then started to fall. Cooper started to move but Caldwell got there first, catching the unconscious Altrive in his arms.

Caldwell straightened, looking down at Altrive with confusion and concern. “What…” Cooper started, rocking forward on his toes to peer at Altrive. He trailed off as Caldwell shifted Altrive’s weight onto his left side and lifted his right hand. Cooper felt sick to his stomach.

Caldwell’s fingers were stained with blood.

* * *

“What do you want?” Pyro growled from beside Connor, and Connor could sense a faint crackle of magic beneath Pyro’s fingertips. “Why did you let us escape?” The question shook Connor -  _ let us escape. _ Pyro clearly believed that their escape had been no lucky fluke.

Dream lifted his chin in defiance, lording his threatening position over the four of them. “You really think that I’m going to spill my entire plan to you for no reason?” he chided, folding his hands behind his back. Dream’s gaze passed over Pyro, Tom, Seto, and Connor--Connor fiercely stared back, fire glaring in his eyes--and landed on Bad, who was standing a step behind Connor, almost as if he were trying to hide. “I’ll put some of your curiosities to rest, though.” He paused, a smirk playing on his lips. “Bad, why don’t you tell your new friends why they’re here?”

Emotion rippled through the group--disdain from Seto, betrayal from Tom, dejected indifference from Pyro, and from Connor… well, Connor was disappointed but not surprised. Bad, the man of the hour, bit his lip and stepped back as the four turned to glare at him. It wasn’t an ache in Connor’s heart, he hadn’t known Bad long enough for that, but it was a sting.

Bad cleared his throat and said, “You’re bait.” Tom stepped forward as if he were going to say something, but Bad quickly retreated to join the man with a cat’s head--probably a Lixianite, Connor noted, though he wasn’t very familiar with the geography of the surface world.

Seto whipped around to face Dream again. “Bait for  _ what?” _ he demanded, eyes narrowed. “And why did you capture us in the first place? Why did you capture  _ me _ in the first place? What the hell have you been planning for so long?”

Dream paused, seeming conflicted. “No,” he answered the unspoken question of whether or not he should answer. “Best to answer that when I’m certain you won’t find a way to escape.” He moved forward, cueing his team to move in as well, and Connor took a reflexive step back into Tom’s shoulder. “For now… you’re our prisoners again. Sorry about that. It won’t be for long, I promise.” Dream regarded Pyro for a moment. “Oh, and Pyro… I need you to write a letter to your cousin.”

“Why would I cooperate with you?” Pyro spat, and the sparks of magic were really flying now. Connor could see smoke rising from his hands. “I won’t let you hurt Charlie. I’ve… I might have wronged him in the past, but I will  _ never _ let you anywhere  _ near _ Charlie.” Connor tensed--if Pyro was going to fight, he would be forced to fight too. He could take out the one with the goggles that was closest to him if he used his extra legs to spring, tie him up with a web and then…

Dream laughed, and the air shimmered around Pyro in a way that screamed magic. A second Dream lifted a wicked silver blade to Pyro’s throat, and Connor could see Pyro’s resolve cracking. Even the most loyal of family members didn’t want to lay down his life. “What makes you think that you have a choice?” The barely-hidden threat came from both Dreams at once, giving an eerie echoing effect.

“That shouldn’t be possible,” Tom muttered to himself. Connor glanced at him with confusion--he saw nothing impossible happening. Tom shook his head and raised his voice. “Why would the gods give magic to someone like  _ you?” _ he questioned.

The first Dream, the one standing at the edge of the clearing, answered simply. “Revenge,” he said. “Even the gods know the value of well-executed vengeance. They are not so different from us, when you look deep into the legends.” He flipped the knife in his hand, the same one that the second Dream was holding to Pyro’s throat, and Connor’s gaze snapped onto the sparks of golden magic reflecting off of it.

Colours of magic were distinct--demonic or ‘dark’ magic was purple, the magic that Connor knew best, and though it had originated with the demons another race (the Windwings) had since adopted it as well, while twisted magic like the sort that coursed beneath the skin of the Blackthorns was a fierce red. There was also blue magic, which had once belonged to the long-dead race of insectoid people who had called the ice kingdom home. Only godly magic was gold--the rarest and most powerful kind of magic.

“What did a boy ever do to you?” Tom’s voice was low and lacking its usual lightheartedness. There was a dangerous undertone that Connor had never heard from Tom before. “I can deal with you wanting revenge on  _ us, _ for whatever reason, but Charlie Blackthorn is innocent.” His fangs flashed as he glared threateningly at Dream. “Leave him out of it.”

“He’s not innocent of the crimes of his blood,” Dream retorted haughtily, lips twisting angrily. “I will not rest until-” He fell silent, eyes narrowing. Dream reached up to adjust the mask covering half of his face, then let out a sigh. “You’re smart,” he accused, pointing a finger at Tom. “If you weren’t a vampire, I’d kill you right now.”

Tom grinned cheerily. “Good to know!” he chirped. “I’ll make it a point to be as annoying as possible, then.”

“Oh, that’s even worse,” Dream groaned. “Please don’t make me go through all the trouble of killing you.”

Tom just continued to smile. Connor envied his confidence--he was even  _ harder _ to kill than Tom and he didn’t want to egg on the man that hated them. Plus, it wasn’t just them they had to worry about--Pyro still had a knife at his throat and Seto wasn’t immortal either.

_ “Anyway,” _ Dream went on, gritting his teeth. “You’re going to write that letter whether you like it or not.” He shot a pointed glare at Pyro. “In the meantime, we have to tie you up now. I don’t need you two,” he gestured to Connor and Tom, “but I can’t have you running off, either.”

As Dream’s associates came to bind them, Tom grabbed Connor’s wrist. “Go,” he hissed. “They can’t kill you. Go and warn Charlie.” There was a sizzle as Tom’s hand started to burn, but it healed at the same rate that it hurt.

“I don’t want to leave you here!” Connor objected, trying to pull his arm out of Tom’s grip. He didn’t like the touch against his petrified skin. “I won’t-”

“You’re a demon, Connor. Stop being a hero.  _ Go,”  _ Tom insisted, giving Connor a hefty shove. Connor stumbled, colliding directly with the man in goggles.

“Get him!” the man in goggles cried, reaching out to grab Connor’s shoulder. Connor pushed him away, hand colliding with his chest, and sprinted across the grass. He heard a cry of pain come from the man in goggles and felt a twinge of regret. It wasn’t his fault that his hands burned. Certainly deterred things from eating him, though.

Two of the Dream’s men came after him, one wielding a sword and the other wielding a crossbow. The one with a crossbow, who was wearing a white tunic and headband, caught Connor directly in the shoulder with a crossbow bolt, and Connor staggered, but he could feel the bolt catch fire and the wound heal over almost instantly. The other, the cat, charged at him with his sword. On a strange instinct, Connor threw out his hand and caught the sword, watching the metal shrivel and melt in his grasp.

“What the-” the cat exclaimed, and Connor took advantage of his surprise to heave him into his other attacker. The two men tumbled to the ground with a grunt.

Connor looked back at Tom, Seto, and Pyro, who were still cornered by the two Dreams, Bad, and the man in goggles. Tom and Connor exchanged a nod and then Connor turned to flee into the shadow of the trees.

* * *

Cooper tapped his foot on the floor, the sharp sound echoing in the corridor. He was sitting on a small wooden chair beside a closed door, behind which Caldwell and Toby were watching the doctor work. Daniel had taken Altrive’s horse to the stables and then returned to their rooms. On the other side of the hall, a human boy about Cooper’s age kept glancing at him and then looking away. He had short brown hair that swooped down over one of his eyes and rectangular spectacles. Cooper looked back at him and deliberately stared, slightly amused by the way the boy squirmed. It was obvious he had never seen a merperson before.

“I’m Cooper,” Cooper finally said with a slight nod, breaking the silence.

The boy’s gaze snapped onto him. “W-what?” he stammered, forehead scrunching in confusion.

“My name--it’s Cooper,” Cooper clarified. “What’s yours?” He kept his tone kind, genuinely just wanting to be friendly and pass some time. It would help him take his mind off of Altrive.

“Charlie,” the other boy answered. “Is your friend okay? The one on the horse.”

Cooper glanced over at the door beside him. “I don’t know,” he sighed. “Are you here for the doctor as well? Doctor, uh-”

“Pokimane,” Charlie provided. “And yeah. Jay broke his ankle in an… accident, so I volunteered to take him up here.” He nodded to the next door down. “He’s in there, resting. I’m out here because I don’t want to disturb him.”

Cooper made a noise of acknowledgement. “I don’t know what happened to Altrive,” he admitted. “They’re just trying to get him stable right now.” He started bouncing his leg again, the nerves getting to him. “Aw, gods…”

“Hey, Cooper.” Charlie’s soft voice made him look up again. “It’ll be okay.” His expression was sympathetic and emanated an air of trustworthiness.

Cooper pulled on a tight smile. “Thanks,” he replied. “I... I appreciate it.”

They were both saved from having to continue the slightly awkward conversation by the door next to Cooper opening abruptly. It was Caldwell, looking small as he stood in the doorway. He looked at Cooper and silently beckoned for him to come inside. Fearing the worst, Cooper got up and followed him, with a small wave to Charlie as he went.

Toby looked over at Cooper as he came in. “Stab wound,” she said, answering his unspoken question. “Just a glancing one, though. He’s patched up now and should be waking up soon.” She exchanged a glance with Caldwell that Cooper couldn’t interpret.

“He’s stirring,” an unfamiliar woman (whom Cooper assumed must be Pokimane) said. “Don’t make any loud noises, we don’t want to startle him.”

Cooper nodded and moved to stand beside Toby. He waited with bated breath as slowly, the rise and fall of Altrive’s chest sped up, and Altrive blinked open his bleary eyes.

Caldwell took a step forward and Altrive looked over at him. “Sorry,” Altrive managed quietly.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Caldwell assured him, placing his hand on Altrive’s shoulder. He glanced over at Toby and Cooper. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Altrive coughed and Pokimane stiffened, but it seemed to be okay, because she didn’t move to shoo Caldwell away. “I… look, Caldwell, I don’t know what to tell you, I just…”

Caldwell’s tone became more direct. “Altrive, I want to know who hurt you.” In his eyes was a ferocity, a protective nature the likes of which Cooper hadn’t seen since-

“They were looking for the prince.” Cooper’s attention snapped back to Altrive. “I didn’t tell them. I was escaping when-”

_ “Who?” _ Caldwell demanded, and Cooper knew that this man would kill whoever or whatever Altrive said next, with his bare hands if he had to. And Cooper had both a terrible and a wonderful feeling that he knew who it would be.

“The high counsellor’s soldiers,” Altrive said, sounding strained. “Allon wants his grandson back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And THAT is the end of Cooper's storyline for Act 1! Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed :D  
> Don't worry, though... Charlie and Wilbur still have a bit more to go before Act 1 wraps up properly!  
> Feel free to leave theories in the comments, I LOVE reading them :)


	41. Jschlatt Performs CPR + I Once Again Shove Lore Down Your Throat, Sorry

Lightning crackled and dark clouds rolled overhead, giving a sense of foreboding and death. Wilbur could see torches flickering violently against the wind and rain on the bank as the Cityguard, led by the Crownguard, continued the search for Carson’s body. They weren’t in a hurry. Why would they be? They were looking for a corpse… so that they could charge Minx with murder.

_“Where’s Carson?!” Wilbur demanded, storming towards Minx. The guards flanking her bristled, but Schlatt got to him first, grabbing him by the shoulders and halting him in his tracks. “What did you do to him?”_

_Minx stopped and the guards stopped too, yellow cloaks flowing behind them. She looked weary and resigned yet triumphant. “He’s dead,” she replied. “And you have no proof that I did it.”_

_“You-” Wilbur struggled against Schlatt’s hold, clawing at the air and baring his teeth in an animalistic snarl, but Schlatt refused to budge. “You bastard!” He leapt forward and the guards went for their swords, making him stutter and hesitate. “You killed him. You killed Carson and I’ll prove it. I’ll see you hang-”_

_“Wilbur- Wilbur, stop,” Schlatt urged, tugging Wilbur back as the guards started to escort Minx away. “Wilbur, being angry at her won’t bring Carson back, nor will it help bring her to justice. She’s in custody now, it’ll be alright…” Schlatt trailed off, sounding awfully like he was trying to convince himself not to be angry instead of Wilbur._

_“Don’t lie to me--you’re furious too, aren’t you?” Wilbur growled. “You were closer to him than I was. You saved his life! And you don’t want to see her pay?”_

_Schlatt’s expression grew dark. “Of course I do,” he answered slowly. The goat-man turned his fiery gaze on Wilbur, boring holes into his soul. “But I want to do it myself.”_

_Wilbur deflated. “Oh.” He’d wanted to argue, wanted to fight with Schlatt. And now he wasn’t sure what to do. “Okay.”_

_Schlatt flashed him a somber look. “They’re going to search the moat soon. We can watch from the walls if you want, so we’ll know if they- if they find anything,” Schlatt offered._

_“Yeah,” Wilbur muttered. “Yeah, let’s.”_

“Wilbur.” Schlatt’s voice was low and emotionless, shaking Wilbur out of his stupor. “Wilbur, look.” And down on the bank, barely illuminated by the torchlight, Wilbur could see a man in an orange cloak dragging something dark and limp out of the moat.

Wilbur hung his head and leaned against Schlatt’s shoulder, welcoming the arm that Schlatt put around him. “Sorry for your loss,” he murmured. Schlatt didn’t reply.

And then the cry went up, loud enough that Wilbur could hear it from atop the castle walls. “He’s here! Get a doctor!”

Mostly out of it, Wilbur muttered, “What do they need a doctor for?” and looked up at Schlatt.

Schlatt’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open in shock. “They must have… Wilbur, Carson’s alive,” he breathed.

“What?” Wilbur wasn’t following.

“If he was dead, they’d just bring the body to the castle. A doctor… he must still have a pulse, Wilbur--Wilbur, he’s _alive!”_ Schlatt cried. He grabbed Wilbur by the arm. “I’ll get us down there. Hold on.”

Wilbur barely had time to stammer a response before a terrible cold feeling gripped his body and his vision blurred so fast that it made his head ache. If it hadn’t been for Schlatt’s hand on his arm, he would have fallen. As he blinked to clear his gaze, he realized that they were standing on the bank of the moat.

“Haven’t done that in a while,” Schlatt commented with a huff. “You good, Wilbur?” He looked down at the young man, who was still reeling from whatever had just happened.

“What in the world…” Wilbur breathed, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m- yeah, gods, I’m fine, I just-” He stopped to catch his breath and gather his thoughts, then spoke again. “I’m good.”

Schlatt didn’t reply, just tugged Wilbur further down the bank to where the knights were huddled around a dark shape. The wet grass was slippery and coated with mud, making their descent difficult, but soon they came up beside Travis.

“Let me through,” Schlatt ordered, grabbing Travis’ shoulder and heaving him back out of the way. The other knights bristled and one of them drew their sword, but Travis held up his hand. A short nod--that was all it took. The knights parted and Schlatt crouched next to the body.

Wilbur moved around Schlatt and looked down. It was Carson, without a doubt. Face pale and tinted blue from the freezing water, a red spot bleeding across the tunic beneath the chain mail guarding his abdomen, iron armour dirty and dented… he looked as if he were surely dead.

“He’s alive, but barely,” Travis told them quietly. “We don’t know if he can be saved in time, I…” He hesitated and trailed off, looking forlorn. Schlatt’s face twisted.

“There’s water in his lungs,” Schlatt identified. “I’m going to try to get it out.” He moved down onto his knees and started to shift Carson slightly. Wilbur watched, unsure of what to do.

“You should wait for a doctor,” Travis advised warily, taking a step towards the goat-man.

“I know what I’m doing,” Schlatt snapped. “We don’t have _time_ to wait for a doctor. He’ll be dead in a few minutes max.” And with that, he started to undo the buckles holding Carson’s chestplate in place. “Help me get this off. I don’t want to break his ribs.”

Wilbur moved to the other side and fumbled to help with the straps, his fingers quickly becoming cold as he struggled with the soaking wet leather. Once he had it, he pushed his side in Schlatt’s direction, and Schlatt pulled it out of the way. “What about his chain mail?” Wilbur asked, gesturing to the links of silver metal serving as protection where the plate mail didn’t cover.

Schlatt hesitated. “It’s fine. It’ll have to be. I’m not taking that thing off.” He scrunched up his nose. “Wilbur, can you keep a check on his pulse? Just put two fingers on the side of his neck and tell me if you lose it or if it gets stronger.” Wilbur nodded and did as Schlatt asked, then watched as Schlatt put his hands in the centre of Carson’s chest.

Schlatt lifted his shoulders and pushed down sharply on Carson’s chest, making Wilbur flinch. He continued, picking up the pace, and Wilbur tried to concentrate on the faint thump of a heartbeat beneath his fingers. Every few compressions Schlatt would pause, glance at Wilbur, and then keep going.

“I… I think it’s working?” Wilbur said, unsure whether or not the strengthening of Carson’s pulse was his hopeful imagination or the truth. “He’s, uh, not getting worse, though.”

Schlatt took that as an indication to continue with more force, and Wilbur bit his lip as he waited for a result. “Come on, Carson…” Schlatt muttered under his breath. “You’re not allowed to die like this.”

Wilbur squeezed his eyes shut, uttering a silent prayer to the gods. This couldn’t be it. They’d come so far, to lose Carson when hope had just returned…

There was a jolt and a splutter and Wilbur’s eyes flew open again as he jerked his hand away. Carson lurched upwards, coughing water from his lungs as Schlatt quickly moved to hold him steady. His eyes were dull, his face was still colourless, and his wound was still slowly seeping red, but he was shuddering and gasping for air like any living man. Wilbur’s face lit up with hope.

“Did I miss anything?” Carson croaked between coughs, blinking bleary eyes at the people crowded around him. There was a pause, but before anybody could start to say anything, Carson passed out.

* * *

Pale moonlight shone brightly through the many large windows lining the castle wall, reflecting off of decorative suits of armour and illuminating beautiful tapestries on the opposite wall. Wilbur stopped at one of the windows, noticing that it was cracked open just enough to let the cool breeze in. The city looked as if it had been dusted with silver, the moon hanging serenely behind Irys’ walls on a clear midnight blue backdrop.

Wilbur had been ejected from Carson’s sickroom, with Schlatt telling him to go get some sleep. There was no reason to hang around all night while Carson was resting and recovering. But Wilbur couldn’t sleep--he didn’t want to dream-walk, nor did he want to have nightmares, and the events of the day had plagued him too much whilst he had attempted to slumber. So he had elected to wander the halls, unaware of how much time was passing or where he was in relation to anything else.

Eventually, he stumbled upon one of the towers, but not one he recognized as having been in before. Tentatively, Wilbur grasped the handle and opened the door, curious but ready to bolt and apologize if it was somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be. The door made a horrible creak as it opened that made him cringe, just waiting for someone--or some _thing_ \--to be alerted inside. Though as nothing seemed to happen, Wilbur took a step inside, eyes darting around warily.

Then something large and black flew past Wilbur’s face and he leapt back, letting out a yelp of fear and surprise. Then his expression shifted as his gaze followed the black shape, realizing a small head, sharp beak, a pair of talons, large wings, and a fan-like tail. _A raven._ This was the aviary, where birds were kept and trained to use for sending messages. And as Wilbur kept looking, he found more and more jet-black ravens perched around the high-roofed room. Most of the things around the room seemed randomly placed for the birds to use, but in the centre was a wooden spiral staircase that curled up onto another floor, high above.

Wilbur went back into the room, still a bit cautious but wanting to watch the birds for a while. He closed the door behind him and paused, looking around. Most of the ravens appeared to be drowsy or sleeping, but Wilbur assumed he’d disturbed a few by coming inside. As Wilbur wandered around the ground floor, he absentmindedly wondered who King Jordan’s ravenmaster was. Unless it was one of the Crownguard or Vice Taylor, Wilbur didn’t think he’d met them.

One of the ravens, maybe even the same one that had flown by him, fluttered down to peck at the ground around Wilbur’s feet. It looked up at him with beady eyes, the sharp movement of its head giving it a curious and sporadic air. The raven hopped towards him, clicking its beak a few times, and Wilbur took a step back, unsure of what to do.

“Fuzzy--the raven--’s hungry,” came an unfamiliar voice from above. Wilbur looked up, spotting a man coming down the stairs. Wilbur watched him descend with fear curling around his heart, worried that he was about to get in trouble. “Grab some nuts from the bag over there. Make sure not to leave it open, or else they’ll get in and make themselves sick.” The stranger gestured vaguely towards the wall near where Wilbur was standing.

Wilbur glanced over the wall and spotted the bag--a brown burlap sack with a string tied around it to keep it shut--and made his way over. “Can’t they open this?” he asked as he came upon it, peering at the flimsy string. “Or peck a hole in the bag?”

“They’re trained not to,” the stranger answered, stepping down onto the floor. “But if you leave it open, they’re not trained to not help themselves.” Wilbur could feel the stranger’s eyes on him as he drew a small handful of nuts and seeds out of the bag, then set them down on a nearby crate so that he could tie it shut again.

Wilbur turned around and was startled by the raven being at his feet again. When he opened his hand, the raven flapped up and landed on his wrist, talons digging into Wilbur’s skin through his tunic. Wilbur winced and struggled with the pain and sudden weight on his arm, but fought to keep his arm steady while the raven ate out of his hand.

“You’re doing great,” the stranger commented, walking over to stand next to Wilbur. “Let me help.” He let out a quick whistle and the raven hopped onto the stranger’s arm instead, but then continued to nibble the feed out of Wilbur’s hand. Wilbur noticed that the stranger had a leather glove on his one hand to protect his skin from the raven’s sharp talons. 

The stranger was completely unfamiliar to Wilbur--he had never even caught a glimpse of this man before, as far as Wilbur could remember. He was a brunet, with the sides of his head trimmed down into a neat cut and the hair on the top combed very deliberately. He had stubble, as King Jordan did, but his was darker and more prominent. The stranger wore a loose grey tunic and black trousers, with again, a leather glove on his hand, and a dark grey cloak around his shoulders. His black boots had significantly raised heels, making him appear taller than he was, and his skin was pale in contrast. But his most interesting feature was that he only had four fingers on his hands.

“Am I allowed to be here?” Wilbur asked cautiously, trying to ignore the little jolts of pain as the raven pecked up the last nuts from his hand. “I’m sorry if I woke you, I just couldn’t sleep and was wandering around-”

“I was awake,” the stranger interrupted gruffly. “I haven’t been able to sleep properly since I moved here. And you’re fine--I welcome the company.” The stranger lifted his arm and the raven flew away to one of the many perches mounted on the walls. “I don’t get many visitors.”

“Why not? Surely people need to send messages,” Wilbur said. “And there are tons of people around the castle that you would run into on a daily basis.”

The stranger sighed. “Okay. Correction: I deliberately avoid people and you’ve managed to catch me at a time when social interaction doesn’t make me want to become a hermit for the rest of my life.”

“You only enjoy interacting with people in the middle of the night?” Wilbur questioned.

The stranger opened his mouth to speak, then hesitated and closed it again. “You… y’know what, I’m not going to argue, I bet that’s exactly what I sound like when I make excuses to not go to things,” he said with a chuckle. “Anyway, uh… who are you, exactly?”

“Wilbur Soot,” Wilbur answered. “I’m here with Carson and Schlatt…?” There was no realization nor recognition in the stranger’s eyes. “I’m helping to catch the assassins going after the king.”

“Oh.” The stranger shifted uncomfortably. “Right. Well, I’m X33N, King Jordan’s ravenmaster, as you might have already figured out, and I’m currently running on no sleep.” He paused. “Oh, and that’s X33N with two threes and a capital ‘n’.”

“One question.” Wilbur said. _“Why?”_ He stressed the question with exasperation.

X33N shrugged. “It got translated that way and I decided to keep it,” he answered. “I’m not originally… from here.” Once again, he shifted awkwardly. “Anyway, this is where I spent pretty much all of my time, sometimes Jordan or, uh… sometimes Jordan comes to bother me and that’s about it.”

“You and King Jordan are friends, then?” Wilbur asked, sitting down on a nearby crate and letting his legs swing a bit. He was curious as to why X33N seemed so nervous but didn’t want to pry.

X33N flashed a small smile. “Yeah, you could say that,” he hummed. “He does all the important stuff and I get pooped on by birds all day. We are not exactly equal in terms of workload.” X33N moved back towards the stairs and reached behind to prop himself against it. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to have that job. All the pressure and responsibility…”

“Yeah,” Wilbur huffed. “It’s hard enough working _for_ the king, _being_ the king would just be a nightmare.” He paused, contemplating his next words. Magic wasn’t taboo, and his magic was moderately well-known in the king’s inner circle, so if X33N was a friend… “Magic’s like that. It’s difficult and there’s so much pressure to use it for all the right things and be good at what you’re doing… sometimes I wish I was never born with it.”

Surprise flashed through X33N’s gaze, but he quickly recovered. “He feels the same. He never wanted to be king, you know. He didn’t even want to be vice. If it wasn’t him, it was going to be someone far worse, and that’s the only reason he accepted it. And now he’s fighting to keep a crown he couldn’t care less about--except he does care, and that’s why he’s not handing it over to an eighteen-year-old with a ragtag army and a pig mask.” X33N sighed. “This is all going to end badly, don’t you think? It has to. At this point, someone has to die.”

“There doesn’t have to be a war,” Wilbur objected, standing up. “They don’t have to die! Neither of them have to die. There’s a way out of this, I… I’m sure there is. King Jordan doesn’t want the crown, but he doesn’t want to give it to Technoblade- would Techno settle with a compromise?” Wilbur spread his arms, mind going a mile a minute.

“What kind of compromise?” X33N asked, looking dejected but mildly curious.

“Somebody else becoming king,” Wilbur said. “Not King Jordan, not Technoblade, not even Antvenom--he’s too close to King Jordan--somebody else. Somebody they’d _both_ be happy with. Wouldn’t that solve things?”

“But Techno wants the crown for himself,” X33N pointed out. “That’s his whole thing. He’s the son of King Nathan and the rightful heir. He should be king--if he’s telling the truth. That’s where this whole thing started and why it’s so gods-damned _difficult_ to deal with.”

Wilbur sighed. “Yeah, you’re right. I just… I don’t know, I don’t want anybody to die, X33N.”

“You’re empathetic for Technoblade and the rebels?” X33N lifted an eyebrow, questioning.

“They’re people, aren’t they?” Wilbur shot back. “People shouldn’t die over something so _stupid_ as whether or not the ‘rightful heir’ is on the throne. People don’t _deserve_ to die for no reason. How many people are dead already? How many more--rebels, loyalists, neutral, I don’t care--will die before one of two great leaders is killed by the other?!” He pointed an accusing finger at X33N. “Would you die for him over _nothing?”_

X33N had been watching him pensively through his entire tirade. When Wilbur had finished, posing the question at the ravenmaster, X33N closed his eyes and inclined his head towards the floor. “I would.” Before Wilbur could recover from his stunned silence, X33N went on. “I would, but I agree with you. Ordinary people should not be dying over a king or a revolutionary that they’ve never even met. If the king on the throne is a good king, then why does it matter whether or not he is the _right_ king?”

“Yeah. That’s what I mean,” Wilbur said. “I’m only caught up in all of this because I have magic… if I didn’t, Carson and Schlatt would have gone on without me.” He slumped back down onto the crate and put his head in his hands. “I wish they didn’t need me. I wish I didn’t have to choose a side.”

X33N was silent for a few long moments. “Do you want something to drink?” he then asked, taking Wilbur by surprise.

“What?”

“I was thinking of making tea.” X33N tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Then we could continue this conversation upstairs where there are less birds and more comfortable chairs.”

“Uh… sure,” Wilbur replied, getting up again. “Is upstairs where you live?” He was grateful for the shift, even if they were going to go back to the topic of the revolution later.

X33N nodded, then shrugged. “What is living?” he questioned, sounding dramatically melancholic. Wilbur stared at him. “You’re no fun. Yeah, it’s where I live.” X33N went around to the stairs and Wilbur followed him. “It’s nothing fancy. Mostly because it’s a nightmare trying to get anything up these stairs.”

Wilbur looked at the spindly spiral staircase and looked back at X33N. “Yeah, I can see that.”

X33N chuckled and hurried up the stairs effortlessly, making Wilbur struggle to keep up. And, as Wilbur noted again when they reached the top and he was catching his breath, he’d raced up the stairs in heels, no less.

The room was the same width as the lower floor and the other towers Wilbur had been in, so quite wide, but the ceiling was low, making Wilbur think that there was an attic or some hidden room above. It was barely furnished, with a single bed shoved haphazardly to one side, a few uncomfortable-looking wooden chairs scattered about, a large wardrobe beside the bed, and a large round table in the centre. These were all of no importance, though--the thing that caught Wilbur’s eye first was a huge map spread across the curved wall on the opposite side from the bed, an intricately detailed replica of the five surface kingdoms… though, as Wilbur slowly walked towards it, this map showed six.

“How old is this?” Wilbur breathed, reaching out until his fingers were nearly brushing the canvas. Beneath his fingers, printed in shining gold letters, where the Frozen Expanse would be on modern maps, was a single word Wilbur had only heard in legends and ancient history books. _Skall._

X33N was watching him closely. “Do you like it?” he asked cautiously, treading across the carpet to stand by the left side of the map.

“Did _you_ draw this?” Wilbur turned his head to gape at the ravenmaster, drawing his hand back as he did so. A sharp incline of his head was the only indication X33N gave, and Wilbur took it as a yes. He looked back at the canvas, gaze passing over the details from left to right--the Ocean Kingdoms, occupying the endless sea to the west of the mainland; then Cypress, the biggest mainland kingdom, bordered by ocean on two sides (north and west), mountains to the east, and the icy wastelands to the south; the Sky Kingdom in the long strip of mountains directly in the centre of the mainland, looking small but Wilbur knew their civilization stretched many miles into the sky; Dair’tah, the kingdom of the dragon people, the Firehearted and their more primitive dragon brethren, to the northeast, a land of scorching rock and cities built into the ground; Lixian, the portmanteau of animal people and humans to the south of that; and then what had been called the Frozen Expanse for two thousand years, but on this map was marked by its original name before the Last Great War and the Treaty of Five--Skall, once a thriving desert kingdom and now a terrible wasteland of permanent winter where nothing could survive to the south of everything. Wilbur knew from his classes that the land stretched further east and south than the maps showed, but it hadn’t been explored enough to be documented. “It’s amazing.”

“I had a lot of free time and needed to practice,” X33N grunted half-heartedly.

“So you drew a huge map of the surface world?” Wilbur questioned again, still in awe. It really was gorgeous--the colours were vivid, the letters ornate and perfect…

X33N looked at Wilbur for a few more moments, then smirked. “No. But for a few moments there you thought I was really something, huh?” His smirk spread into a grin as Wilbur glared at him. “No, I…” X33N stepped forward and passed his hand over the canvas, making the letters shimmer as if they were a mirage, “...I created this with magic.”

Wilbur visibly stuttered. “You need to stop doing that,” he muttered, head spinning. “You can’t just throw stuff at me like that. _You have magic too?”_

“Do you need to sit down?” X33N asked, almost patronizingly, but Wilbur, frankly, didn’t care.

Wilbur didn’t answer--instead, he flopped down into the closest chair and let out a noise that he couldn’t describe. “I’ve never… I’ve never met anybody else…” he managed weakly.

X33N folded his arms over his chest. “It’s not exactly common knowledge, okay? I’m only telling you because I can sense your… every word I can think of sounds stupid… sense your _magic,_ I guess, and I think somebody else should know. Considering…” He trailed off awkwardly and cast a glance towards the stairs.

“Considering?” Wilbur prompted, raising an eyebrow. He was still reclined in the chair, limp.

X33N hesitated and made his way over to the bed in silence. He sat down heavily and it creaked loudly, then X33N sat back so that his head was against the stone wall. “Considering the only other person who knows is using it to blackmail me.”

“Oh.” Wilbur didn’t know what to say. “Why don’t you want people to know about your magic, exactly?”

X33N took another long pause before speaking. “Wilbur, how many colours of magic are there?” he asked quietly.

“Three- well, four,” Wilbur answered. “Purple, red, gold, and blue, but all the Skalli are dead so blue doesn’t really…” his words slowed down as X33N lifted his hand, sparks of blue magic jumping between his fingers, “...exist… anymore…”

“You didn’t ask why I only have four fingers on each hand,” X33N commented absentmindedly.

“I thought it would be rude,” Wilbur replied quietly, staring at X33N.

X33N closed his hand and the magic disappeared, shaking Wilbur from his stupor. “We aren’t dead,” he said simply. “Well… it’s complicated.” X33N got up and made his way over to where Wilbur was sitting. “Do you know the way back to your room?”

“No,” Wilbur answered, sitting up.

X33N let out a long exhale. “I can point you in the right direction, I think. It’s late. Almost dawn, actually. You should get some sleep.”

“Aren’t you going to explain?” Wilbur questioned as he spread his arms. “You can’t just drop firebombs on me like this, I-”

“You’ve been up all night and so have I.” X33N grabbed Wilbur by the upper arm and hauled him to his feet. “Come back, say, tomorrow afternoon, and I’ll explain. As long as you swear not to tell a single soul any of this. I just want somebody else to know in case I…” X33N frowned.

“Well, that’s morbid,” Wilbur groaned. “Fine. Fine, tomorrow. Nice…” He hesitated. “Nice meeting you, I guess? Gods, did we really just meet-” Wilbur raised his hand to stifle a yawn.

X33N flashed him a tight smile. “See, you’re exhausted.” He nudged Wilbur towards the stairs. “Do you swear not to tell anyone?”

“Wh- oh, yes, I swear, I won’t tell anyone,” Wilbur replied, not stopping to think about whether or not this was a bad idea.

“Great.” X33N smiled at him. “I’ll… I’ll point you back to the guest rooms.”

Wilbur returned the smile half-heartedly. “Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everybody: Sy, stop introducing new characters  
> Me: No <3  
> Anyway, Carson's alive! And more lore-slash-plot-slash-backstory! Woo!  
> *points at X33N* there he is! there's (one of) my favourite white boy(s)!  
> \---  
> Join my [Discord!](https://discord.gg/KUnKQhKhKq) I post updates and discuss the story there :D it's also just a general MCYT Discord so you can come to just hang out as well!


	42. Connor Has A Moment + Swagger Puts All His Cards On The Table

Connor fled through the city, his shapeshifting powers coming in handy as he attempted to disappear into the background of the dark streets. His forearms were still petrified--he couldn’t change that--but he otherwise resembled a human man. His hood was pulled up over his head and his boots were splattered with mud as he raced up the way. The sun was creeping over the horizon, illuminating the top of the city walls and backlighting the castle. Connor was in a race against time, fighting to find Charlie Blackthorn before Dream’s trap was set. He couldn’t tell whether or not the trail of red magic he was following belonged to Pyro’s little cousin or not, but he was too far to turn back. He had to keep pressing on towards the castle and hope he found the boy there.

He’d run for a long time, fleeing from Hell. Fleeing the terrible fate the lava’s curse had brought upon him, a life consigned to a jail cell in the queen’s fortress, never able to look back. Through hundreds of miles of twisting, treacherous tunnels, hunted down by horrible monstrosities the likes of which had never seen the light of day, fearing every day would be his last. This flight, up the main street with the wind at his back, as the sun burned away the last of the rain, was nothing like that. This was adrenaline and determination. This was a quest, not an escape.

Over the castle drawbridge he went, the castle courtyard already awake and buzzing with life. Connor stopped and looked around, then caught sight of a knight in an orange cloak who looked as if he knew what he was doing. He marched up to the knight and said, “Excuse me, sir.”

The knight seemed startled, brushing curls out of his face as his gaze found Connor. Connor would have assumed that the knight would be annoyed at being bothered so early, but it didn’t appear that way. “Good morning. What can I do for you?”

“I’m looking for Charlie Blackthorn,” Connor said. “It’s important. His…” he hesitated--he couldn’t remember whether orange-cloaked knights were the trustworthy ones or not, “...his cousin’s in trouble.”

The knight’s eyes widened. “Charlie… yes, I think I know who you’re talking about. Follow me--name’s Sir Travis.” Travis turned and started towards one of the doors leading into the castle.

“I’m Connor,” the spider demon said, following after Travis. “I’m not from around here.” Connor hesitated as Travis opened the door for him. “Thanks.”

Connor went inside and Travis came after, shutting the door behind them. “That’s him there,” Travis said, pointing at two boys standing a few paces down the corridor. “I’m going in here to check on Sir Carson--if you need anything, just say so.” Travis gestured to the door directly across the hall from them.

_ Carson? _ Connor had known a Carson… but he had just been a young man, not a knight, and was probably dead anyway. It wasn’t the same one. There were plenty of Carsons in the world. “Yeah, okay,” Connor replied absentmindedly, letting Travis go before he turned to the boys, remembering what he was supposed to be doing.

They looked over at him as he approached, and Connor awkwardly stopped in the middle of the hall. “Charlie Blackthorn?” He looked between the boys, and the one on the left pointed at the one on the right--a young man with brown hair swept across his brow and square spectacles. “I’m Connor. Your cousin sent me. He’s… he’s in trouble.” Connor swore silently. “A lot of trouble.”  _ Stop being so gods-damned vague! _ “The masked man--Dream--has him. We escaped the tunnels, a bunch of us, but Bad betrayed us and we were surrounded but I fought my way out to come find you before Dream did.”

Charlie blinked. “Oh-” and he swore loudly. “Could you start from the beginning?”

Quickly, and probably not very clearly, Connor explained everything he thought was relevant--the catacombs, Tom, encountering Pyro and Seto, the plans to get out of the tunnels, meeting Bad, and then being captured by Dream. “Tom told me to warn you and… well, he didn’t have time to say anything else. So I’m not sure what we do now-”

“Isn’t it obvious?” the other boy piped up. “We rescue them!” He looked over at Charlie as if this were the perfect solution.

Connor shook his head. “It’s too dangerous for a couple of kids, uh-”

“I’m Tubbo,” the boy provided.

“It’s too dangerous for a couple of kids, Tubbo,” Connor said. “Dream has magic. And his team aren’t exactly awful fighters--I only escaped with my life because I’m…” he lowered his voice, “...because I’m a demon.”

“I have backup,” Charlie replied. “Noah Greypoint and the Misfits--er, most of them. Jay’s down with a broken ankle, but the rest of them would all help.”

“That doesn’t mean anything to me,” Connor said monotonously.

Charlie stuttered. “Uh… the Misfits are famous bandits and Noah’s a mercenary and former army general.”

“Oh.” Connor paused, thinking. “Well, that’s better than nothing. Maybe we could stage a rescue mission, but it’ll be difficult…” He trailed off, tilting his head back.

Then, suddenly breaking the silence that settled over the corridor, a door creaked from behind Connor, and a familiar voice called out, “Connor?”

Connor whirled around, cloak catching around his arms. “...Schlatt?” he breathed, staring wide-eyed at the goat demon.

“I thought you were dead,” Schlatt muttered, taking a few slow steps down the hall.

“I thought  _ you _ were dead,” Connor replied, hesitantly bouncing on the tips of his toes.

There was a long pause, then Schlatt held out his arms and sighed. “Come on.”

Connor lurched forward and half-jumped, half-fell into his best friend’s arms, forcing Schlatt to catch him. Schlatt wrapped his arms around Connor’s back and lifted the spider demon to his height, making Connor’s feet dangle comically in the air. Connor laughed, hanging onto Schlatt’s neck for dear life, as a smile cracked across Schlatt’s face.

“I missed you!” Connor cried, clinging to Schlatt’s torso like a koala and not caring how weird it might look. Schlatt was seven feet tall in his goat form; hugs were a little bit awkward to manage.

“Hey- hey, Connor, I missed you too,” Schlatt replied, quiet. He let out a chuckle, trying to gently pull Connor off of him, but the spider demon refused to budge. “How are you alive? How are you  _ here?” _

“I…” Connor let go of his friend, dropping to the ground. He held out his hand, swallowing a lump in his throat as Schlatt stared at the flesh-turned-stone and fiery veins. “I am cursed to live, Schlatt. I escaped the queen, as you did.”

_ “Feumeneich,” _ Schlatt said, studying Connor’s arms. “Fire-cursed.” He looked up at his friend’s face, eyes betraying no emotion. “It… it doesn’t matter. You’re alive--I don’t care how.”

“It  _ does _ matter,” Connor insisted. “You know the curse as well as I do. You know what happened to those who went before me.”

Schlatt pushed up Connor’s sleeve. “It only goes to your elbow.” Schlatt rolled his eyes. “You’re fine.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Tubbo piped up, drawing Connor and Schlatt’s attention, “but what in the world are you two talking about?”

“No matter,” Schlatt answered gruffly. “You-” he clapped Connor on the shoulder, “-should get on with whatever you’re here for. But come back when you’re done, alright? I want to hear everything.”

Connor caught Schlatt’s arm. “You could help,” he said. “You could come with us. We need all the hands we can get…” Connor trailed off hopefully.

Schlatt shook his head. “I’m needed here.” He dipped his head to his friend. “Godspeed, Connor.” Schlatt gave Connor one last short hug, then let him go.

“Thanks,” Connor mumbled half-heartedly. Schlatt turned and left, leaving Connor staring at the door he’d gone back through for a few long moments. Then he turned back to Charlie and Tubbo. “So, where can we find these friends of yours?”

* * *

“Would you put that damn thing out?” Fitz snapped, attempting to knock a pipe out of Noah’s hand. “It smells awful in here.” Noah had started smoking in an effort to ‘ease his nerves’, but all it had done was release an acrid cloud that made Charlie’s lungs hurt.

“It smelled awful in here already,” Matt grumbled, to which Karl glared at him. Matt attempted to take a step away from Karl, but collided with Fitz and knocked them both onto the arm of the sofa where Charlie and Tubbo were sitting. Charlie flinched away as they got back up. There were too many people packed into this house. It felt as if they were constantly knocking into things and each other.

“Would you stop bickering and let me finish explaining?” Connor exclaimed. His hands twitched, and Charlie assumed that if he hadn’t been scared to burn the table, he would have slammed them down on it. “People are in danger. Not just Pyro, but Seto and Tom too.”

“What in the world does Dream even want?” Noah sighed, exasperated, as he put out his pipe. “He’s got the mask. Why go after the Blackthorns? Why go after  _ Charlie?” _

“He’s just a boy,” Karl added quietly. Charlie tried not to feel annoyed that people were still referring to him as a boy.

Connor grunted something under his breath that sounded like, “Revenge, I think,” but Charlie wasn’t sure he was supposed to hear it.

Charlie folded his arms over his chest. “Could… could he be working with my brothers?” he proposed quietly, drawing the attention of the group over to him.

Connor froze. “Your brothers?” he questioned softly.

Noah hung his head and closed his eyes, letting out a small exhale that caused Charlie to glance over at him.

Charlie took a deep breath. “Condi and Grizzly want to kill me. They could have offered Dream any number of things in return for his aid,” Charlie said. “My brothers are wanted men--they cannot work alone.”

Connor scratched his head sheepishly. “Why do your brothers want to kill you?” he asked quietly.

Charlie hesitated. “I… I don’t know, really,” he admitted. “Because I’m a disgrace to my family? I’m not sure. I don’t understand it.”

“I shouldn’t have asked about his motivation,” Noah said quietly. “It doesn’t matter why. Connor, finish your tale.”

Connor cleared his throat and said, “The forest east of the city. That’s where we’ll find them. They’re expecting us, and it’ll be a trap… but they don’t know that we know this.”

“How do we fight against tricksters? Dream is an illusionist, and his dogs fight like foxes,” Mason said.

“Even foxes can be outsmarted,” Swagger called out in a low voice. “Men trap and kill foxes by baiting them with food. We will bait these foxes with what they want most.” He spoke slowly as if every word were being forced from his lips.

“I don’t understand,” Connor replied. “At least, I hope I’m not understanding.”

“I’m suggesting we use Charlie as bait and then hit them with everything we have.” Swagger closed his eyes, solemn and unwilling to say any more.

There was an instant and vocal discussion that erupted from the rest of the group. Noah was against the plan and stepped between Swagger and the boys, as if it would help. Fitz and the rest of the Misfits were in favour of it, while Tubbo simply looked horrified. Karl and Connor were silent, and Charlie just put his head in his hands. All the shouting was making his head hurt.

As if he could sense Charlie’s discomfort, Karl stood up suddenly. “Quiet!” he bellowed. After everybody had fallen silent, he turned to Charlie and asked, “What do you think of Swagger’s idea?”

All eyes went to Charlie, who baulked under their collective gaze. “Do we have a better plan?” he asked hopefully, raising his eyebrows.

Connor shifted awkwardly. “No,” he admitted. “And I hate to say it, but it just might work. You could get hurt, though, or worse.”

Charlie gulped. “That’s a risk we’ll have to take. I’ll do it. To stop the masked man--Dream--from hurting anybody else… I’ll do it.” His voice squeaked at the end and he cringed, wondering if he could sound any more pathetic.

“Well said,” Tubbo murmured, putting his hand on Charlie’s shoulder. It was a small reassurance.

“Very well then,” Noah said, sounding discontent. “Let’s figure out how to destroy Dream.”

* * *

The sun was high in the sky when they set off, beating down on their heads. The group moved quickly, piling into the Misfits’ carriage once they were out of the crowds and passing through the city gates with ease. The wheels clunked down off of the cobblestones and onto the dirt path they were following towards the woods, and they were all silent. Anxiety settled over the group like a thick cloud.

Charlie was seated in the back of the carriage, leaning against Tubbo’s shoulder. He stared, unseeing, at the opposite wall, lost in thought. How had it come to this? He had done nothing wrong and yet been thrown out of his home. And now he was walking right into a trap set by a sorcerer more powerful than him, banking his life on hope and luck. He didn’t even have a weapon to attempt to defend himself with.

Curled up beside Charlie with its head on his lap was Bonk, the black wolf slime slumbering quietly as Charlie absentmindedly stroked its head. Charlie had been keeping his slimes away while in the city, paranoid about getting awkward questions, but now he welcomed the company.

Tubbo was dozing off next to Charlie, even though it was the middle of the day. He hadn’t been asked to help but was coming anyway. There was a part of Charlie that wondered if Tubbo was somehow a spy, but Charlie trusted his instincts. And Tubbo seemed trustworthy to him.

Across the carriage was Noah, playing cards with Mason. Noah looked old and worn--not just because his armour was beaten and scorched, but there was grey in his beard that Charlie didn’t think had been there that morning. A trick of the light, it must have been. A trick of the light, he thought, as Noah let out a long sigh and deflated against the wall. The bags under Noah’s eyes were a trick of the light too, and the faded scar by his ear that Charlie had never noticed before. A general, Noah had said. A general in the army. This was no general--this was a defeated man. And Charlie wanted to comfort him, but he knew nothing he could say would help. Noah didn’t want him to endanger his life, but they didn’t have any other options… he knew this and hated it.

Charlie didn’t know much about Mason. He was young, brash, and wasn’t very friendly with anybody outside the Misfits group. At least, that was how Charlie saw him. According to Fitz, Mason hadn’t been part of the Misfits for very long, maybe a year or so. He seemed to be pretty good at cards though, based on how he was beating Noah. With a start, Charlie wondered how Mason was healing. He’d been hurt pretty badly during the fight with Condi and Grizzly, when Pyro had been taken, though Pokay had managed to patch him up. Charlie would have to ask… if they made it out alive.

Matt was on guard on top of the carriage, with one of the crossbows that the Misfits seemed so handy with. He was another that Charlie didn’t know very well. Still limping from the wolf bite he’d suffered when the carriage had been first attacked, Charlie wondered wryly if any of the Misfits had yet to be injured during this quest. They were risking so much to help him, under the guise of wanting Dream’s mask, a powerful Blackthorn relic. But Charlie was starting to think they weren’t as dark at heart as people assumed. Even Fitz had changed so much since Charlie had met him.

While on the topic of Fitz, the man in question was sitting up front with Swagger. Charlie thought that he could hear their whispering over the rattle of the carriage’s wheels and the thunder of the two horses pulling it along, but he knew he was deluding himself. Fitz was an enigma and Charlie wished he could have any idea what went on in his brain--did he care for anyone, or was he really the chilly rogue that he seemed determined to be perceived as? Charlie did not envy him. A wise man had once said that it was better to love and lose than to never love at all--though Charlie couldn’t remember who.

Swagger, on the other hand, seemed as if he were always in a state of melancholy. He didn’t speak much, but not in the way that some of the others did--he was still present and contributing, he just preferred to listen than speak. He sort of scared Charlie sometimes, with his helmeted face and fearsome fighting skills, but Charlie was glad he was on their side and not the enemy’s. There was something very strange about him that Charlie couldn’t figure out, and Charlie was torn between trying to uncover it and respecting Swagger’s silence.

And the last member of the group was sitting with his legs hanging out of the back of the carriage, fiddling with something small between his rocky hands. Charlie felt bad for Connor--he barely knew anyone and was now relying on them to save his friends. He was also filled with curiosity about Connor, especially after his interaction with the goat-man at the castle.  _ Feumeneich, _ Schlatt had called him. It sounded like demonspeak… or dragonspeak--Charlie wasn’t quite sure. He’d never been good with foreign languages.

Charlie got up and went to the back of the carriage, sitting down next to Connor. Connor didn’t look at him. It was sort of odd, watching the road stream away behind them. It was still open country--they had yet to reach the forest. Charlie was in no way prepared for the task at hand, but the anticipation was somehow worse. “How do you know Schlatt?” Charlie asked Connor, trying to distract himself.

Connor sighed, sliding the small object back into a pouch on his belt. As he did so, Charlie realized that it was a copper coin. “We’re friends,” Connor said simply. “We’ve been friends our whole lives. We spent many millennia in Hell together, living and surviving as demons do.”

“You’re a demon, then?” Charlie questioned, knowing it was sort of a stupid question.

Two extra pairs of eyes suddenly opened up beneath Connor’s larger pair, and all six took on a dark colouration with a ring of fire in the centre. “Spider demon,” Connor clarified. The eyes closed up again and the colours went back to normal. “I don’t usually look like this. When demons leave Hell, they sacrifice a certain amount of their power to do it. That’s why demons hardly ever get involved with the affairs of the surface world. I was lucky enough to keep my shapeshifting powers--Schlatt was not.”

Charlie watched him with rapt attention. “Why did you leave?” he asked softly. Hell was the land of demons, the only realm that was any sort of kind to them. Charlie knew from books that many demons would rather die than come to the surface.

“I am cursed.” Connor shrugged. “It was either flee or be trapped in a cage for the rest of my immortal life. So I left.” Connor was playing it off as if it weren’t a big deal, but Charlie knew mourning and homesickness when he saw it. Charlie yearned for his own home the same way. “I left a lot of people behind when I…”

Charlie caught Connor’s arm. “My family disowned and exiled me,” he said quietly. “I know what it’s like to be barred from your home. Is there no way to break your curse and go home again?”

Connor stared at him for a second, then snickered. “I’m fire-cursed, Charlie. My curse is the only thing keeping me alive. And one day, it will turn me into a monster. I could be killed by magic and that would stop the curse, but then I would, y’know, be dead.” Connor took a deep breath. “I’m not ready to die yet.”

“Me neither,” Charlie admitted under his breath. “I’m… sorry about your curse. Is that why your arms are…?”

Connor nodded. “It’s a stupid curse and nobody really knows how it works. I’m one of the  _ lucky _ few that get to experience it.” His voice was bitter and full of venom. “I’ll slowly turn to stone and then go mad. Lucky me.”

“How long will that take?” Charlie asked, slightly worried. Was he allying himself with a lit fuse?

Connor shrugged. “Thousand years, probably.”

“Ah.” Charlie looked down at the ground. “That’s not so bad.”

“Maybe to you. My best friend will outlive me.” Connor pulled the coin back out of a pouch on his belt and tossed it onto the road, and they both watched it clatter onto the gravel and dirt. “Anyway, we have a trap to spring and a battle to prepare for.”

“Yeah.” Charlie watched as the shine of the metal beneath the sun slowly disappeared from view. “Yeah, we do.”

* * *

The rhythmic movements of the horses drew Fitz’ eye. He sat back in the seat, putting his boots up in front of him. They were caked with mud, but he was usually too busy to clean them. Or too lazy, though Fitz didn’t like to think of himself that way. With a sigh, he took one of his boots off, pulled a knife from his belt, and started to use it to scrape the mud off. Swagger could direct the horses.

Finally, Swagger broke the silence. “Have you considered that this might be our last fight?” he questioned quietly. Fitz blinked. “Dream is strong. His men already trounced us once. We could die today.”

“Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine?” Fitz grumbled dryly. “Well, is there anything you want to tell me before our inevitable doom?” He rolled his eyes, not really expecting an answer. He gave Swagger a hard time, but he hoped Swagger knew there was no real ill will from him.

Swagger looked down and sighed. “There is, actually. I’ve been meaning to just get it over with, but it’s been sort of difficult to get you away from everyone else with everything that’s been happening.”

“If you tell me that I’m your son I will stab you with this knife,” Fitz warned, putting his boot back on and brandishing the knife in Swagger’s direction. 

Swagger let out a low chuckle. “No, no, you’re not my son. But…” Swagger shifted awkwardly and Fitz wished he could read the expression on his face, “...I lied about not knowing who your parents were.”

The knife in Fitz’ hand fell to the seat with a clatter. “Tell me,” he demanded. “I need to know.”

Swagger leaned away from him and sighed again. “You’re going to want to know the whole story, and it’s a long one.”

“We have time.” They didn’t, not really, as the forest was just ahead of them on the road, but Fitz knew Swagger was right about Dream’s strength. He needed to know before this fight.

Swagger clutched his hands around the reigns of the horses, pulling them to a slower pace. “I suppose it’s been long enough,” he said. “I want you to make me an oath, though. I want you to swear to me that you will not try to become your father.”

Fitz blinked. “Why would I…” he trailed off, knowing Swagger wasn’t going to answer. “Fine. I swear that I won’t try to become my father, whoever he is. Now tell me.” His eye twitched, the only physical indication of his growing annoyance.

“You are the bastard son of King Nathan,” Swagger stated simply, “and the true heir to the throne of Cypress.”

Fitz attempted to say something and stumbled over his words. Finally, he managed a firm,  _ “What.” _

“Your mother entrusted you to me before she died, to keep you safe from the Windwings.” Swagger looked away. “Technoblade is a liar and a fraud.”

“Tell me everything,” Fitz pleaded, grabbing Swagger by the arm.

And so he did. “I was stationed in Irys during the war as a spy, delivering information back to the Windwings. My partner in this was another Windwing named Peter. He had been my best friend for most of my life. He always wanted to sabotage the Cyrians, always wanting to go above and beyond for the queen… but I never went along with him. I didn’t support the war, and I was growing more sympathetic towards the Cyrian people, who were greatly outmatched and dying for a king that nobody particularly liked.

“Then the order came from Ilien--the capital city of the Sky Kingdom. We were to assassinate the king and his vice, for reasons that were kept from me. Peter was told the whole story--Queen Julia, using magic, had discovered the existence and location of King Nathan’s one heir, and the Windwings were going to seize him and use him to take over the broken kingdom, under the guise of establishing the right successor to the throne.

“Peter went and killed Nathan before I could stop him. We fought on the castle wall, but he winded me and went after Jordan, whom I considered myself friends with. We fought again, and I saved Jordan’s life in the process. Peter fled from the castle and I followed him back to Ilien, where I was  _ going _ to… I don’t remember what my thoughts were, really, but I do remember this.” Swagger paused to remove his helmet, slowly revealing hideous burn scars across one side of his face and a missing eye. “I was supposed to be executed before Peter left to retrieve the child. It had been decided that the plan could still go ahead, even with Jordan on the throne. But Princess Jaiden, another old friend of mine, released me from my cell and sent me after Peter.

“A storm hit on the way. Peter and his group decided to stop and wait it out, while I kept going. I paid the price for it--I was struck by lightning and nearly killed, but I managed to make it to the house, where Lily, your mother, offered me sanctuary. She didn’t care who I was. She could see that I was in awful shape and knew I wouldn’t hurt her. So I stayed, and then as the storm started to lessen I told her of the fate that had befallen Nathan, and the death that followed behind me.

“She decided that she couldn’t come with me, though I insisted otherwise. She gave me care of her child and sent me away. The only thing she asked of me was that you be kept safe… and that you never become king. I don’t know what she did, whether she tried to delay them or not, but I saw the house go up in flames from a ways away and assumed that she was dead.

“I don’t know how and from where Peter acquired Technoblade, but I assume it was an attempt to carry on the plan again. I think they thought I had crawled into the wilderness with the child and died from my injuries. I stayed hidden. Lily didn’t want you to become king, and I have no material proof of my claim, so there was no point to revealing you,” Swagger finished, a bit awkwardly. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“No, it’s… okay,” Fitz mumbled. “It’s a lot to take in. I never would have thought that you’re… a Windwing.” The sentence tasted bitter on his tongue. The Windwings were their  _ enemies. _ “You should probably put your helmet back on.” He felt numb, as if he’d been hit by something and the pain hadn’t registered yet. “Who would’ve thought that the king’s son would be some dirty, good-for-nothing bandit?”

“You’re not good-for-nothing,” Swagger replied, sliding his helmet back over his head with a dull  _ thunk. _ “You’re right about the dirty bit, though. I could see you as a prince if you were cleaned up.” He paused. “Though, to be fair, King Nathan was not the most attractive sight to see. His beard was always a mess.”

Fitz snorted a laugh. “And I always look as if I’ve just been pulled backwards through a hedge--I know, you’ve said it before, even though you  _ really _ don’t have room to talk.” It was easy to slip back into banter and forget about the earth-shattering news that had just been shared with him. “Anyway, uh… thanks for telling me.” He looked down at his hands.  _ I could be king, _ he thought faintly.  _ I could take the throne. _

As if Swagger could hear what he was thinking, he said, “You swore not to become your father. You  _ cannot _ become king. Let them fight, don’t risk your life for power.”

  
Fitz nodded, but was still thinking about it.  _ I could give my group the lives they always wanted. I could make things better. We wouldn’t have to be criminals anymore. _ He swallowed the lump in his throat and looked up at the trees, remembering what they were going to do.  _ That is… if I survive this fight. _


	43. Author's Note

I really wish I didn't have to make this update.

But I don't know what to do now. Too many of the people involved in Golden have been outed as awful people since it began, and now, with what's just been revealed about Carson, I don't know what I should do. Luckily, I'd already been planning a retelling with original characters, but I don't know if people would be interested in that--it was going to be something for a year or two in the future, not _now._

My only idea is to wipe this story and start over. Make it better, using things from SMPs that hadn't happened yet when I started it, and newer lore that I wish I could have changed in this fic. Relatively same story, just with more polish and thought. Hopefully, it'll be shorter, too, and bring in more readers--I know this story's a bit rough to start reading and the sheer amount of characters can be overwhelming.

I don't want to do this. I've put so much work into this narrative... I've spent so many hours upon hours thinking about it and writing and rewriting these scenes... I don't want all that work to go to waste because some guy I don't even know committed a felony, but it would be irresponsible to ignore this _and_ previous drama about other people.

If I start another fic with a similar premise, I'll probably update this again. In the meantime, join my [Discord](https://discord.gg/KUnKQhKhKq), I guess.

I would appreciate any other thoughts on the matter.

And can I just say, over the last year, I have learned to _hate_ writing for this fandom. Real people are too messy, with boundaries and problematic actions and stuff. Writing RPF is literally hell. But I still love doing it :')


	44. Author's Note Part 2

And it's over.

One year after I started what I hoped would be the greatest story I ever wrote, it's over.

I'm going to be doing two different things now. The first is reworking Golden into an original story, which I don't know if I'll be sharing on AO3 yet--it depends on whether or not people are actually interested. The second is starting a new fantasy AU that's more Dream SMP-focused, and quite a bit less complicated, so hopefully that might appeal to more people.

I'm really upset about this, but it's for the best. I have to do this.

The first chapter of the new story's already done. I'll link it [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28578810/chapters/70040712) when it's posted.

Thanks for reading my fic. I wish things could be different, but this was the last straw that broke the camel's back. Hopefully, I'll finish the new version one day, and who knows, I'm definitely going to _try_ to get it published, so anything could happen.

-Sy


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